


The Gift

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mild Language, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-11-27 13:27:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18195197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: Takes place immediately after the end of Fallout.- A cryptic message from Lane sends Ethan on his most personal mission yet.** Complete as at 7 April 2019 **





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- Narrated by Ethan  
> \- Self Beta'd.  
> \- Alternative title could easily be... 'The Fix'. ;-) (Because I still feel as though it's my duty to... fix... Fallout...)  
> \- The fic is finished and comes in at around 31,000 words. I'm only posting in 'chapters' because... well... It's like this. I hate proof reading (there, I've said it) and could quite happily put it off... basically for ever. But! If I only have to do a section at a time I can begrudgingly force myself to do it. And... if some of it is already posted then I have more of an incentive to keep at it.  
> \- I'll try not to drag it out for too long. (When I've finished I'll update the summary to state 'complete')  
> \- Yay. I've written something?
> 
> \- Enjoy!

=========  
The Gift  
by TalithaX  
=========

 

I dream, not of an imagined world darkened by the insidious presence of Solomon Lane, but of a time past.

A...

… Chance lost.

I dream...

… A memory.

A precious, yet painful memory played with moment-by-moment perfection as, listening to the needs of my body for once in my life, I lie asleep in my bed in the field hospital in Kashmir.

And even though I'm unconscious and pumped full of painkillers, the pain and anguish caused by my memory dream is uncomfortably real. Now that the mission is over and my injuries are effectively holding me captive by stopping my ability to run – both figuratively and literally – from that which I've tried my hardest not to think about, I...

I can't escape it.

An opportunity missed and now forever captured in both history and my dreams.

Mexico City. Soaked to the bone courtesy of a torrential downpour that had come out of nowhere and ruined our plans for the afternoon. The tiny, cramped entrance hall of the apartment we were using as a base. Barely big enough to swing the proverbial cat, let alone for the two of us to stand, dripping all over the black and white tiled floor as, laughing, we contemplated a round of 'Rock, Paper, Scissors' to see who would score the coveted prize of having the first shower. Long dark lashes blinking water out of blue eyes as somehow, wordlessly, we shifted even closer still. The thought that... Now. Something was finally going to happen. The tremor of excitement working its way down my spine as, with the slightest of nods and the smallest of sighs, his lips brushed, feather-light, against mine.

Benji's voice.

Calling out our names as he made his way downstairs to greet us.

Shifting apart. The moment gone.

Disappointment disguised by dry chuckles and, from my lips, a murmur of... 'next time'.

Only...

… There wasn't going to be a... 'next time.'

We didn't know it then, yet as I relive the moment with both picture and sensory clarity in my dream, I know it now.

I know that I should have ignored Benji's voice and, as it was already well overdue, just gone for it. I should have kissed him, and held on to him, and maybe, just maybe, it would have been enough to change the course of our lives. 

But I didn't.

Benji...

… Benji's voice.

“I know he needs his rest, but I promised Ilsa!”

The sound of Benji's voice deviating from the events in that little entrance hall in Mexico City causing me, with no small amount of relief, to wake up, I breathe deeply and gaze up at the dirty roof of the tent. Although reality might not have all that much to recommend it at the moment, I'm nonetheless glad to be free of the dream and, knowing that I could benefit from the diversion of having company, hope Benji and Luther stop whatever it is they're squabbling about outside the tent and quickly make their way in.

“I'm not saying don't tell him,” Luther mutters, “just... How about leaving it for a while longer, yeah?”

“You heard the message the same as I did,” Benji replies as a hint of agitation enters his voice and instantly makes me both more alert and curious as to what it is they're debating over telling me or... not telling me. “I mean, yeah, I get where you're coming from. Of course I do. God knows Ethan needs and... deserves... his rest, but... What if this is something really important? Ilsa clearly thought it was worth sharing, so...”

“I still think it's nothing more than a wind up,” Luther interrupts with one of his patented dismissive snorts. “The bastard's just making one more attempt to jerk Ethan's chain and, if we march in there now we'll only be facilitating it.”

“I'm not saying that there's a part of me that doesn't agree with you and, hey, it's not like I particularly want to be the one playing the role of messenger boy here, but I promised Ilsa that I'd pass it on and that's what I'm going to do.”

Having had just about enough of not knowing what's going on, I struggle into a more upright position and, before Luther has time to mount a counter argument, call out, “News flash, you two. It's my body that's banged up, not my hearing!”

“Great. Looks like you win, then,” Luther, who has always been a bit of sore loser, complains to Benji as they make their way through the tent flaps and over to my bed. “If you're not feeling up to it,” he adds, giving me a hopeful look, “we can always come back a little later.”

“I'm awake now,” I reply, settling myself as comfortably as possible given the current, decrepit state of my ribs, against the mound of pillows, “and you know full well that patience has never been one of my strong points, so... Come on. Out with it.”

Nodding, Benji shares a worried look with a far more blank faced Luther before dragging one of the two chairs by the nearby table over to the bed and flopping down into it with a sigh. “As you already know, Ilsa decided to travel back to London with Director Sloane so that she could personally oversee Lane's handover back to Six,” he states as his eyes flick nervously from me to the iPad on his lap and back again. “Now, that went off without a hitch and, from what I've heard about his new accommodation, he's unlikely to be a problem to anyone ever again. The thing is though, before he got... uh... bedded down he started to kick up a fuss, demanding that he had a message he had to give you and refusing to take either no or... uh... a few considerable threats for an answer.”

“Lucky me,” I mutter drily as, already having a bad feeling about this, I try unsuccessfully to catch Luther's gaze. “Maybe he was just wanting to congratulate me on ruining another one of his stupid plans.”

“In the end it got too much for Ilsa,” Benji continues solemnly as it becomes abundantly clear my small attempt at facetiousness had no impact on him whatsoever, “and, even though it had been forbidden, she found a way to get to him, and... Shit!” Shaking his head, he looks up and rolls his eyes. “I'm telling you, Ethan, what he had to say makes no sense to anyone. Ilsa passed it on to me word-for-word, but she hasn't been able to make any more sense out of it than we have. It... Even for that crazy bastard it's nonsensical.”

“Yeah, well,” Luther interjects, the resignation he's feeling about this being evident in everything from the tone of his voice to his posture, “seeing as the message was meant for Ethan anyway you may as well just go ahead and hit him with it.”

Sighing, Benji, his expression as resigned to this world of unknown he's somehow found himself in as Luther's is, taps his iPad awake and glances down it. “You know, even though I heard this from Ilsa, I can still hear it being said in Lane's creepy bloody voice and...”

“Just get on with it, Benji,” Luther interrupts as he both shoots him a warning look and saves me from having to say it myself.

“Of course. Sorry! Okay, okay. This is his cryptic-as-fuck message for you, Ethan,” Benji states, pulling a face as he lifts the tablet so that I can see for myself the words written on the screen. “He is alive. Tick. Tock. Then... there's a string of seemingly random numbers that, no, before you ask aren't coordinates, or a phone number, or a bank account. Then, finally... Too late. You lose. Just... What the hell is all of that supposed to mean, huh?”

Not having any sort of answer to give Benji and, while I'm at it, too befuddled from all the meant-to-be-good-for-me drugs in my system to even know how best to proceed here, I shrug and, even though I know full well that I'm only asking the obvious, murmur, “What? Who's alive?”

“Your guess is as good as ours,” Luther replies with a shrug. “Personally, I think the prick is just trying to have you on and we'd all do well to simply ignore it.”

“No.” Knowing that I need to focus, I sit up and, before either Benji or Luther can attempt to stop me, throw back the bedding and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. “Lane doesn't do anything without good, in his head, anyway, reason,” I state breathlessly as pain radiates from far too many points of my body than it has any right to and I have to clench my hands into the mattress to stop myself from tilting forward. “If he was insistent on getting that message to me then... then we have to work through it.”

“Work through what?” Luther retorts, reaching out his hand and placing it on my shoulder. “Listen to me, Ethan. You're in no fit state to be jumping so much as mentally through his hoops, so...”

“I'm with Ethan,” Benji pipes up quietly yet firmly. “Yeah, yeah. Trust me. I think Lane's as crazy as you do. I also know he has an unhealthy obsession going on with Ethan, but... there still has to be something to his message, I'm sure of it.”

“Fine.” Scowling, Luther pulls his hand back and folds his arms across his chest. “Where do you propose we start, huh?”

“With the... who, I suppose,” Benji replies, glancing at me for approval which I give with a nod. “Now... If he's got delusions of Walker... or Lark... or whatever his name was... being still amongst the living, I can very firmly stomp that out right here and now. Wanting to confirm for myself that he was indeed dead, I sent a drone down around the area of the crash site and, while they're certainly not pretty, I've got the photographic evidence here if anyone's stomach is up to seeing it.” Pausing, he half lifts the iPad up before apparently thinking better of it and returning it to his knee. “I don't know what the species of bird are, but once you've seen a shot of them making a... uh... meal of what's left of his face, it... well... it's one of those things you can't... unsee... if you know what I mean.”

“He's dead. We get it,” Luther responds as I can't quite decide, especially given my feelings towards Walker, whether I actually want to see the photos on Benji's tablet or not. “As for you, Ethan,” he adds as though reading my mind, “having had the misfortune of seeing it myself, you just need to take our word for it. That prick is well dead.”

“And so, unfortunately, is the Secretary,” Benji states. “His body is already back in D.C. and a copy of his autopsy report is sitting in my email. I... I haven't read it myself though, so if anyone..”

“Hunley's dead,” I murmur, cutting Benji off as, knowing that it's important and something we need to work out before we can move on, I throw what limited mental resources I currently have at my disposal into running through a mental list of recent deaths. “We were all there, and we all saw it.”

“So, who else is there?” Luther queries. “The European didn't survive that fuck-up with the plutonium, and even if he had... Who cares? He was just another arms dealer, anyway, and didn't mean anything to anyone.”

Mean something...

Luther's dismissal of the European's meaningless death striking a chord with me, I realise that, albeit indirectly, he's most likely hit the nail perfectly on the head. If Lane's message to me is to hold any sort of threat or meaning, which, to my eternal regret, I'm sure that it does, it would have to be... personal. Whoever it is that he's claiming is still alive would have to mean a great deal to me, and...

Shit.

My mind suddenly going blank as all rational thought ups and leaves it, I gasp and groan and no doubt give every indication of having some form of breakdown. “It...” I know I have to say it, that regardless of how out there it's going to sound, or how much disbelief it's going to be met with, but as the seconds tick by and Luther and Benji stare at me with obvious concern, it's almost as though I can't bring myself to give voice to it.

Not...

… It.

His name.

I can't say it because, if I do, the reality of the past three weeks will dissolve and be replaced by more questions than I can bear to think of.

Just...

… Oh God.

As bad as what I'd believed to be true has been, this...

… This is perhaps even worse.

A glimmer of never expected hope countered with the horror of the unknown. 

“Ethan? Are you okay?” Benji murmurs anxiously as he places his hand lightly on my knee and tries to get my attention. “Should we... I don't know... Do you think we should call Julia?”

“It...” Shaking my head, I grab Benji's hand and squeeze it tightly as, for no other reason than I know that I have to, I finally find the strength to say it. “It's Will. Lane's message is that Will's still alive.”

“What? No. Will's dead,” Benji replies hesitantly as he shares a worried look with Luther. “You even went to Belfast to spread his ashes, remember? Ethan, I... Hell. I wish he was still alive as much as you do, but...”

“What proof do we have that the ashes I spread over his grandmother's grave were his?” Tightening my grip on Benji's hand, I jerk my head up and give Luther what just has to be a wild-eyed look. “Think about it. Thanks to the always questionable reason of needing his ability to recognise faces, he was seconded to the Special Activities Branch at the time of his... death. His body was also burnt beyond recognition in the explosion and, under the guise of saving IMF the trouble, the CIA... kindly... conducted the autopsy and had the body cremated themselves, and we... We just accepted it. We accepted it because we were stupid enough to assume that the CIA was above reproach, that... it was just an unfortunate event outside of everyone's control. But... Think about it. Think about what we now know about Walker, the Apostles, and how the Special Activities Branch, under Walker, was rotten to the core. Just... Think about how easy it would have been to fake his death, and... and how easily we fell for it.”

“I...” Paling as all of the possible ramifications of my ramblings wash over him, Benji extracts his hand from mine and stumbles to his feet. “Luther? Oh God... Shit. It... It makes sense. I almost don't want it to, but it does. If Lane really wanted to get one over Ethan then using Will would be...”

“As good a place to start as any,” Luther finishes with obvious reluctance as, feeling sicker by the second, I will myself not to throw up.

Control.

Now is the time for absolute control, not falling prey to questions I know can't be answered or emotions that, simply put, will neither help nor achieve a thing.

If Will's alive, then, whatever it takes, I have to find him.

I have to work with the others to translate the rest of Lane's message and, contrary to my body's opinion on the subject, I then have to follow through with, again, whatever it takes to get him back to us.

Nothing, and I really do mean nothing, else matters.

“So, now that we've got the who, what next?” Luther adds, his voice drawing me back to the here and now. “Lane's message seemed to imply that not only was there a time-table, but that we were always going to be too late anyway.”

“That... That's not necessarily a problem,” I mutter, grabbing Benji's iPad from him so that I can see the time. “Half expecting Lane to have one last trick up his sleeve, I convinced Ilsa to change all the clocks and watches around him so that they were eight hours ahead. Because they had him knocked out for most of the journey he wouldn't have had much of a clue about what time it was anyway, so he wouldn't have had any reason to question it.”

“So what you're saying is that... although he would have thought that the time was already up and he was, I suppose, safe in taunting you about Will still being alive, we should... still have a bit of time left to work with?” Benji asks hopefully. “I mean, sure, we're still not any closer to knowing what he's playing at, but if his message of... too late... was meant as a... 'ha, there's nothing you could have done' sort of thing, then...”

“He'd be wrong and, hopefully, we've got some time up our sleeve after all,” I reply, handing him back his tablet. “The string of numbers Ilsa gave you. Show them to me.”

“Oh, as not knowing what they mean is doing my head in,” Benji mutters as he brings up the numbers on the screen of his iPad, “I'd be only too happy to show them to you. Here. They're all yours.” Handing me back the tablet, he slides his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants and, as I gaze down at them in the hope of inspiration suddenly striking, continues to prattle on as, really, only Benji can. “See? They make absolutely no sense, do they? They're just... numbers. A bloody long string of numbers at that. In fact, as I've already counted them, allow me to save you the bother. There's twenty-six of them. I mean, sure. It could well be a cipher. But where would we even start to try to decipher it, huh? Now... Part of me wonders if it's not perhaps two strings of thirteen numbers. If you look long enough at them you'll see that why the bulk of them seem random, the string starts with three eights, which in Chinese numerology, by the way, is incredibly lucky, and then there's a seven followed by another triple eight, and the last number is a seven as well. So... I don't know. Two strings of thirteen numbers starting with eight-eight-eight and ending with seven? Not, mind you, that that exactly helps any. Ethan? Are you even listening to me?”

“I'm listening, I'm listening,” I murmur distractedly as somehow, don't ask me how, something in Benji's rambling spiel starts a few, rusty with disuse cogs in my head as I stare at the screen and the string of not at all random numbers spread across it. “In fact, I think you may even be on to something.”

“Me? You've got to be kidding, right?” Benji exclaims with a snort of disbelief. “I was just spitballing. Luther and me, we discussed the numbers as we walked over here and I'm telling you...”

“Pandora!” I declare triumphantly as things finally click into place and I remember where I've encountered similar number strings beginning with triple eight before. “I could be wrong, but I think it's a password to a locked site on Pandora.”

“You mean Pandora, as in the darkest corner of the Dark Web, yeah?” Luther queries, taking the tablet from me and peering down at it. “What makes you think...”

“Because Lane used to use it to communicate with The Syndicate,” I interrupt, reaching out and tapping my finger on the screen. “I spent a lot of time trawling the Dark Web when I was hunting him two years ago and, after a lot of trial and effort, I finally worked out that pages or messages protected by a password beginning with three eights related to Syndicate business. And... Benji's right. The numbers here make up two strings of thirteen.”

“But... If it's a remnant of the bad old Syndicate dates, shouldn't Ilsa have been able to recognise the numbers as a password?” Benji muses. “I asked her, of course I did, when she read them out to me, but...”

“Lane didn't tell her everything, so it wouldn't surprise me that she didn't recognise them.” Shrugging, I snatch the iPad from Luther and shove it at Benji. “But... Whatever. None of that matters now, as what... does... matter is accessing Pandora and seeing what this password unlocks. Benji? Do you need me to show you...”

“I can find it. But...” Taking the tablet from me, he gestures at the table before beginning to walk over to it. “As I know I'll be quicker on the computer than on this, I'm going to do it over here.”

“Fine.” Somehow resisting the urge to add, 'just get on with it', under my breath, I stand up and limp my way over to join him. Not exactly moving at my fastest at the moment, I've barely made it when Luther, with a grumble of disapproval, places a chair behind me and gently pushes on my shoulders until, giving in to his less than subtle hint, I take a seat in it. “Thanks. But I'm sure I could have remained upright for a little longer.”

“Not from where I'm standing,” he mutters, taking up position behind Benji and, like me, watching his fingers fly across the keyboard of his laptop. “I know this is all very promising and all that, but you've got to remember that you're injured and shouldn't...”

“If Will's alive, I...”

“If. You don't know...”

“No. I don't. But it makes just the right amount of sick sense to pursue with everything we've got.”

“I agree. But you don't have to be involved. Benji and me, we've got this. You just go back to bed and get some...”

“No! I'm staying here. I... I need to know!”

“And I know when I'm just wasting my breath,” Luther sighs, giving me a rueful look as, not particularly in the mood to appreciate what I know is his genuine concern for my well being, I glare daggers at him for daring to imply I'd be better of in bed. “Ethan... Seriously, man. I just don't want you to get your hopes up. I know that he was your friend and meant a lot to you, but if this just ends up being some sort of wild goose chase cooked up by Lane, I...”

“Actually, Ethan was right,” Benji interrupts in a subdued tone as he lifts his fingers away from the keyboard and uses them to rub his temples. “He... He's right on all accounts. The numbers got me into an active Pandora page, and... and it is Will. He's still alive, and... Fuck! Look! He... He's for sale!”

“What?” Any relief or delight I may have been able to feel at hearing that, yes, miracle of miracles, Will really is still alive being well and truly trampled on by Benji's last statement, I stare at him open-mouthed and truly don't know what to say, let alone... how exactly I should act. He's... for sale?

Just...

… What the fuck?

“What do you mean he's for...” Trailing off as he leans over Benji's shoulder to read the screen, Luther shakes his head and turns the laptop so that I can see. “Actually, just to be specific here, I think you'll find he's actually for auction.”

“What?” I repeat, ignoring both the pain in my ribs and the hammering of my heart as I lean forward to finally get a look at what Lane's string of numbers has given us access to. “Someone's... auctioning him off?” I query, the disbelief I'm feeling coming through loud and clear in my voice as Benji kindly slides the laptop over so that it's directly in front of me and I don't have to stretch too far to reach the keyboard. I want to be able to say that I don't believe it, but sadly – and what this says about the world I choose to inhabit isn't something I particularly care to acknowledge – I actually have no difficulty in believing it at all. Sure, it's shocking, and even unexpected, but what it isn't is... unheard of and, to be honest, my main feeling is more of numbness than surprise.

Will's alive, and he's being auctioned on the Dark Web.

All in all it's just... one of those things that seem to take up the majority of my life – a road block that has to be overcome, that's all.

And...

… If I don't buy fully into this bullshit idea then I can't expect anyone else to, so... Onwards and upwards. As the only other alternative is to lose my shit entirely, there can be no other way.

So...

Focus. Not on the hows or the whys, or even on the fact that, against the odds, he honestly seems to be still alive, but on the auction site and what we can do to ensure we get him back as quickly as possible.

Focus.

Breathe.

Tune out Benji and Luther as they continue to discuss - “Why on earth would you sell someone like this?” “I can think of a few reasons and, trust me, you don't want to go there.” – this latest turn of events, and just focus on what's on the screen.

Focus.

Now isn't the time for going off half-cocked.

Read. Focus. Plan.

Suppressing the urge to sigh heavily as I don't want to give the others any more cause to feel concern about how I’m currently holding up, I pull the laptop closer to the edge of the table and skim over what can only be described as Will's... listing. Starting with a photo that I recognise as having been lifted directly from his IMF ID, it then goes on to list the bare basics of his vital stats – height, weight, eye colour, ethnicity – before going into considerably more detail about his career in law enforcement. Worryingly, the information reads like a highlight reel of the missions he's been involved in and I know that this amount of detail could have only have come straight from his official IMF file. Whether this means we've got another asshole double agent amongst our ranks or whether Lane's... pals... are just exceptionally good at hacking is, however, something that's just going to have to wait until a later time. I don't like it, but nor is it a priority at this very moment, so...

Focus.

Scrolling down, I come to a photo that causes both the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up and for my breath to catch in my throat. Taken four months ago, and I know this because I remember the mission and recognise the location as Venice Beach in LA, I'm sitting next to Will on a park bench as we wait to meet with an informant. The day was a hot one, far hotter than we'd been expecting, and I can remember Will lamenting the fact that we didn't have time to go for a swim. What I... can't... remember is feeling at any point as though we were under surveillance and I'd be annoyed by this realisation now if not for the statement under the photograph captivating my attention and making me want to throw up.

KNOWN FOR HIS CLOSE ASSOCIATION WITH ETHAN HUNT.

Meaning...

… Should you be one of the many I've pissed off over the years, you may wish to consider purchasing this man as a way to either get to, or get back at, me.

Hurt Will, and you'll be hurting me.

Two for the price of one if you like.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

Will doesn't deserve...

Just what the fuck is wrong with these people...

Shit.

Focus.

Breathe.

Reaching out a finger that I hope the others don't notice happens to be trembling, I scroll past the nauseating declaration of 'Unbroken! Kept subdued by drugs alone. Yours to train and break-in anyway you see fit.' and allow what appears to be an image of a live feed fill the screen. There, strapped to a chair in an otherwise nondescript room save for the medical equipment monitoring his life signs and proving to any prospective buyers that he is indeed still alive, is Will. Obviously unconscious, his head is tilted forward and his shoulders are slumped, but I still recognise him as the man I'd thought to be dead and am too slow to stop what sounds far to much like a whimper for my liking to slip from my lips.

Alive.

He's alive.

But...

… Where?

And what can we do about it?

“It's him,” I whisper, glancing helplessly at the others as, having fallen silent, they gaze at me with that increasingly familiar expression of raw concern on their faces. “What... What's our next step?”

“As it appears you weren't listening,” Benji replies, giving my wrist a quick squeeze before shifting the laptop back in front of him, “our current plan is track the IP address back to the location of the... uh... seller and then send in the closest extraction team. Given that this is the Dark Web though, and there's any number of ways for the IP address to be bounced around, it's likely to take a little... uh... make that a.. lot... longer than any of us would like, but...” Pausing, he shrugs and dredges up a wan smile. “We've got to start somewhere, yeah...”

“I'm going to get my computer,” Luther adds as he starts to move away from the table, “so hopefully it'll be quicker with two of us working on it. Ethan, I know you want to help too, but I think the best thing for you to do would be to go back to bed and get some...”

“Shit!” Benji all but yelps as, cutting Luther off, he gestures wildly at the screen. “Change of plan, guys. I just scrolled down to the end of the page and the auction is ending in sixteen minutes! We... Fuck! That doesn't give us time to do anything.”

“Crash the site,” Luther suggests, quickly returning to the table and leaning over Benji's shoulder. “If the site's down...”

“No!” Reaching out my hand, I smack Benji's fingers away from the keyboard and, just for good measure, shake my head as thoughts, none of which are pleasant, fly around in it as though caught in a whirlwind. “If we crash the site they'll know that something is up and we don't know how that might make them react. They might immediately call the current highest bidder the winner, or... or for all we know they might choose to kill him on the spot.”

“Okay, then,” Luther responds, stepping back from Benji and folding his arms across his chest. “We let it play out. We let the auction run to the end and, because we're in the system now, track the buyer and retrieve him from them. I know it's not ideal, but...”

“No,” I interrupt, glaring up at Luther even though I know that none of this is his fault but, at the same time, momentarily hating him for being the one to suggest just... holding back. “That could still take days and, again, we don't know what they plan to do with him. They could disappear, sell him on, or...” Unable to say that they could simply kill him as a way to get back at me, I fall silent and once again shake my head. “This has to end here. We can't let him change hands.”

“Then what do you suggest, then?” Luther queries, a hint of exasperation entering his voice. “I get where you're coming from with your objections, but we've clearly got to do something and, hey, the clock is ticking and I'm fresh out of ideas.”

“It's not that I was saying your ideas were bad, more...”

“You know,” Benji interrupts in a wistful tone, “it's a pity we couldn't just buy him ourselves. I mean, that would solve half our problems right there.”

“Yeah. Good one, Benji,” Luther mutters, his exasperation of only a moment ago shifting to sarcasm. “Perhaps we could add Ethan as an active bidder. I'm sure they'd just love that.”

“It was just an...”

“You're right,” I exclaim as, possibly seeing sense where there is none, everything suddenly falls into place and I know what our next moves have to be. It may be harebrained, and there's a chance that it may not even work, but having no other options and time being very much of the essence, it'll just have to do. “Benji, you're a genius!” I add, clapping him on the shoulder as Luther shoots me a – 'I'm not going to like this, am I?' – suspicious look. “We'll buy him and... and that will just be that.”

“We're going to buy him, huh? Just like that.” Shaking his head, Luther crouches down beside me and places his hand on my knee. “I know you want to both protect him here and get him back, hell, we all do, but do you hear what you're saying? Even if we did have access to that sort of money, which I'm fairly certain we don't, as I don't know if you've noticed the current bid on the screen but it's currently at eight-hundred thousand, how do you propose we create a bidder profile, huh? Going on what they know about Brandt it's pretty damn obvious they've been in our system, so even using an alias is out as we couldn't be sure they...”

“Aliases can be kept on places other than the IMF servers,” I retort, pointedly shifting my knee out from under his hand as I gesture at Benji to push the laptop back over to me. “If I bring up a fully backstopped alias that I keep as a backup, can you use the data to create a profile to bid on the auction?” I continue, directing my question to Benji as, shrugging his acceptance, Luther stands up and shifts away.

“Sure. I can do that.” Sliding the laptop across the table, Benji moves his chair closer to mine and watches as I open another tab on the screen and quickly access one of the numerous – secret, even from IMF – folders I have hidden across the internet. “I suspect they'll have to do their own background check before accepting you, but if it's as backstopped as I'm sure it is then it probably won't be an issue.”

Finding the alias I was looking for, I bring up the data on the screen and slide the computer back in front of Benji. “Here. Alexei Tarasovich. He should do. Rich. Russian. An arm's dealer who has had documented run ins with the IMF before, so his interest in wanting to purchase an agent as payback should strike a chord.”

“Sounds like a charming individual,” Benji mutters as he swiftly lines up both pages side by side on the screen and begins to complete the fields required to be accepted as a bidder. “Of course, none of this is going to get us anywhere if we don't have proof of... uh... Alexei's finances being in order. I mean, given how high these stakes are I'm sure they'll also be needing proof that he's got the money to pay up.”

“You just concentrate on getting accepted in and leave the money to me.” Picking up the iPad as I silently offer a prayer to any deity that may be listening that it, the only money I can think of that should be enough, is still just sitting there, I bring up a heavily restricted banking page and, from memory, type in an account number and wait to see what comes up. It's an odd feeling, what with the concern I'm feeling for Will and the anxiety of whether this all ends up as I so desperately need it to, but in a way I'm better off now than I was a couple of minutes ago. Yes, everything is still up in the air and my heart is still beating erratically, but... I'm doing something. My mind is focused both on the task at hand and our ultimate goal, and it's a familiar, perhaps even strangely reassuring feeling.

This is what I do.

What I'm actually good at.

Think outside the box and just...

… Go for it.

No time for doubt, just... Go, go, go.

“Yes!” What I'd been hoping to see popping up on the screen, I breathe a heartfelt sigh of relief and wave the tablet at Benji as his finger continue to fly across the keyboard. “As the money is still sitting there, we're good to pay. I'll transfer it to Alexei's account now, so when they want to check it out the money will already be sitting there.”

“And... What money are we talking about here?” Luther asks as, focused on his task, Benji gives the smallest of nods to acknowledge that he heard me. “Ethan?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“Oh. I'm fairly sure it does,” Luther replies drily as, shifting behind me, he peers over my shoulder at the iPad and, obviously not liking what it is he's seeing, gasps. “That's the money Atlee put aside for The Syndicate. The... British Government's money. You can't use that!”

“So? It's just sitting there.” Turning a deaf ear to Luther's objections, I calmly transfer two million pounds from one account to Alexei's before trying my luck with a second remembered account number.

“You can't steal from the British Government!”

“I'm not stealing it, merely... borrowing it. Think about it, once we've got Will back we'll break the good news to IMF and then go all out to both retrieve the money and close down whoever this lot are.”

“No. I can't let you do this, Ethan. This... This is the British Government we're talking about!” Luther retorts, reaching over my shoulder and making to grab the iPad. “There has to be another...”

“I'm doing it this way!” I snap, pulling the iPad out of his reach and, after taking a second to glare at him, quickly transferring a further three million pounds. “Besides, couldn't it be said that simply borrowing some money that no-one's using anyway is, I don't know, a lot better than letting plutonium fall into the wrong hands?”

“If that's your way of saying you'll stop at nothing here, I get it,” Luther mutters, stepping back and, to his credit, not giving me either a disgusted or disappointed look for having thrown what I did to save him not so long ago in his face. “I don't like it, but, yeah, I get it.”

“Again, I'm only borrowing it,” I reply, childishly getting the last word in before simply moving on and turning my attention back to Benji. “How's it going? Five million pounds are now sitting in Alexei's account, so all we need is his profile to be accepted and we're good to go.”

“All the data is in and they're checking him out now,” Benji responds, his expression one of worry as he lifts his hands away from the keyboard and stretches. “The good news, I suppose, is that there's someone actively monitoring for new bidders as I've already had a personalised response to say that the account would be confirmed as soon as everything had checked out.”

“Yeah, well, they'd better get on with it as the clock is down to ten minutes,” Luther states, pointing at the countdown clock on the screen.

“Don't remind me,” Benji murmurs. “Hell. This in its own way is as stressful as those bloody bombs were the other day. I mean... Will! This is Will's life we're dealing with here. Will, who... we thought was dead! I know this has every chance of sounding ridiculous, given everything we've seen and done together, but I almost don't believe this is even happening. He's alive! And... And he's being sold. Just... What the fuck?”

“Wanting the most money they can get out of him, they'll get the confirmation process done in time,” I reply, not really paying any attention to much of what Benji's just said as my eyes are drawn to the live feed of Will strapped to a chair that fills the top right hand corner of the screen. Dressed in a dirty white t-shirt and equally as dirty grey track pants, he looks both pale and thin but otherwise relatively uninjured. I can see abrasions on his wrists from the overuse of metal cuffs to keep him from trying to escape, and a number of small bruises litter his arms from no doubt being manhandled around. His face, which is clean shaven in what I suspect is an attempt to prove he really is the same man in the ID photo, is free from bruising though and while it's unpleasant enough in its own way I'm actually relieved that it would appear they really have only been using drugs to keep him subdued. Far better than either beating, or feeling the need to torture him at any rate.

Bad, of course, but it could be far, far worse.

Not wanting to think about how long it is they're taking to confirm Alexei's credentials and how the time is moving steadily forward, I watch Will as, struggling to consciousness, he half lifts his head and gazes vacantly in the general direction of the camera. To me, it's as though he's staring directly at me and once again the hairs stand up on the back of my neck as a tremor of emotion washes over me.

If...

If this doesn't work then I don't know what I'm going to do.

“Woo-hoo! We're in!” Benji suddenly crows, effectively saving me from going somewhere I really didn't want to go and grounding me back in reality. “With seven minutes to go they're ready to accept our bid. Ethan? What do you want to do? Bid now, or go in with a sniper bid at the last second?”

“Uh... Not wanting to take too much of a risk of leaving it too close, how about making our move around the one minute mark?” I offer, pretty much just thinking aloud as I hadn't thought this far ahead.

“One minute to go it is,” Benji agrees without hesitation as Luther begins to pace between the table and the bed. “Now, the next question is... How much do you want to put in? The current bid, and I'd very much like to know who these sick bastards are who seem to want him so much, is up to one and a half million American dollars, so... It's up to you. Your five million pounds equates to over six million US, so you should have enough to play with.”

“Use...” Tearing my attention away from the live feed as Will's eyes close and his head slumps forward, I shrug and flash Benji a grim smile. “Use it all. It... It has to be enough.”

“It'll be enough. Surely.” Hiding his doubt behind a grim smile of his own, Benji enters the full amount in Alexei's account into the bidding field on the screen and hovers his little finger over the enter key. “One minute to go, yeah?”

“One minute to go,” I confirm as, wishing I had the energy to pace around the tent like Luther is, time quite literally appears to stand still. Not wanting to give in to thoughts of what's going to happen if this doesn't work, I let, with some difficulty, my mind go blank and simply don't think of anything. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. It's an old calming method, but thankfully it works. For once, even Benji remains silent and for just over five incredibly long minutes we all exist in our own little worlds of hard fought for calm.

Then...

… I hear Benji's finger pressing down on the enter key and, from breathing being everything it suddenly feels as though it becomes optional as all I can do is stare at the screen and watch, simultaneously, the clock tick down and the price rise.

Fifty seconds.

One-point-eight million.

Thirty-eight seconds.

Two million.

Just who the fuck is bidding?

And...

… What on earth could they possibly want him for?

Twenty-five seconds.

Two and a half million.

When this is over I'm going to see to it that each and every one of these sick fucks are wiped from the face of the earth.

Ten seconds.

Three million.

Seven seconds.

Four and a half million.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Someone's entering another bid.

Two.

One.

At one, the screen goes black and I'm so shocked by this that all I can do is look at Benji helplessly as once again time seems to come to a grinding stop.

“Don't ask, because I don't know,” Benji declares in a shaky voice as the empty screen continues to mock us. “We... We still had well over a million left to go. Even though the increments were going up and up, I... I thought we had enough, that... that we should have got him. Ethan, I... I'm sorry. I must have done something...”

“It's not your fault, Benji,” I murmur, pushing my chair back in shock as, for one of the incredibly rare times in my life, I don't know what to do. “We... We'll just have to...”

“Accept that, God alone knows how, this somehow worked,” Luther finishes breathlessly as he leans between Benji and I and gestures excitedly at the screen. “Look! Stop moping for a second and look at the damn screen!”

“Oh my God, he's right!” Benji exclaims, grabbing my hand in both of his and shaking it. “Look! Look at the screen, Ethan. We won! Oh my God, we fucking won!”

Returning, although this is somewhat reluctantly as there's a part of me that doesn't actually believe what they're saying, to my seat, I take in the display of fireworks erupting on the screen and the very large and very sparkly word 'CONGRATULATIONS' running across it and realise that they're right.

We did it.

We somehow did it.

“Congratulations, Ethan,” Luther states, placing both of his hands on my shoulders. “You did it. For five and a half million dollars you are now the proud owner of one William Brandt.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	2. Chapter 2

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I've never really been one to pay all that much attention to either the time, or... timing. I like to be on time, basically because it's the polite thing to do and I know how annoyed I get when I'm the one stuck waiting for someone to arrive, and I wear a watch in order to be able to check the time if needed, but that, really, is about is as far as my interest goes. Countdowns, contrary to the alarming frequency in which they present themselves in my life, don't mean anything. I can only do what I can, and knowing that there's a mere five seconds before something blows up doesn't exactly mean all that much when I'm already giving it everything – and more – that I've got. If something needs doing I'll just keep going until it's done. It really is as simple as that and, not to be arrogant or anything, it's served me well enough over the years.

Now, however...

… If I'm not glancing at my watch I'm going through the timing of the next twenty-two hours in my head like a man possessed. Logic tells me that there's plenty of time and I need to stop working myself up into a state over nothing, but my inner-pessimist isn't having a bar of it and I keep coming up with different – each more far fetched than the last – scenarios to stop us from getting to London in time to make the exchange. The car will break down. We'll get a flat tyre or have an accident. The flight will have been cancelled. A terrorist attack will have closed the airport. Our flight will be diverted once in the air.

The...

… Anxiety I'm feeling will cause my heart to give out and it will all become a moot point anyway.

I know I'm being stupid. That not only am I wasting my time freaking myself out like this, but that we actually even have time up our sleeves to spare and are already well and truly erring on the side of caution. Instead of staying in – bed – the hospital for the next three hours like Luther wanted, we're heading off pretty much as soon as I've finished getting dressed and driving the four hours to Srinagar before lurking around the airport for our flight to London. This gives us just over an extra four hours to deal with any unforeseen delays in our drive and to ensure that we make it to the airport with plenty of time to spare. Usually this sort of planning wouldn't even register with me. If we made it to the boarding gate as last calls were being made then, whatever, so be it. This time though, I'm refusing to leave anything to chance. We have to make the flight. And we have to be in London to pick up Will from the people holding him. Their instructions are to meet at midday at an abandoned warehouse in Bromley to exchange the money for Will and, whatever it takes, I'm going to be there.

I...

… Have to be there.

Sitting down in the chair in front of the now empty table, I lean forward to put my shoes on and have to grit my teeth to stop myself from swearing at how much pain this beyond simple act causes. Battered, bruised and, as is the case for a couple of ribs, broken from the fun and games that was the Walker-helicopter-crash-fight debacle of only forty hours ago, my body doesn't want to be out of bed, let alone actually having to move, but I can't afford to listen to its demands for rest and know that I have to keep moving. To placate Luther, I've promised to rest, and with any luck even sleep, in the car while he drives and Benji deep dives the Dark Web in the hope of finding some information on just who it is we're dealing with, and that's just going to have to be enough.

“Please tell me you weren't going to leave without saying goodbye.”

The problem of how to get my shoelaces done up giving way to the – awkward – problem of not letting on to Julia that, well, as it happens, I had been planning on sneaking off because I neither know what to say to her nor feel as though I've got the time to deal with her properly, I slowly sit up and slip both effortlessly and professionally into a lie. “Of course not. I was going to come and see you once I'd finished getting dressed.”

“Uh-huh. Of course you were.” Her expression solemn, Julia walks over to where I'm sitting and places her hand on my shoulder. “Ethan... For once, listen to me. Not as someone who still, and will always love you, but as your doctor. Just... Don't do this. You need to be resting, not... throwing yourself straight back into the the thick of things.”

“I have to,” I reply, smiling neutrally through the pain as I reach up and rest my hand on top of hers. “I know you're concerned, and I appreciate it, I do, but I'll be fine. If everything goes to plan this is only going to be an exchange. In and out. Simple.”

“And since when did anything ever go to plan in your world, huh?” she retorts, giving the top of my head a quick kiss before shifting around to stand in front of me.

“There's always a first time for everything,” I respond, countering her worried look with a spot of facetiousness. “Jules... Please. Don't worry. Everything will be fine.”

“Have a look at yourself, Ethan. You can barely move without grimacing from the pain.”

“I'll be fine.”

“Don't take this the wrong way, but you're not getting any younger and...”

“Trust me. I'll be fine,” I murmur, hating the pleading tone that's already entered my voice as much as I'm hating knowing that, even after all these years, she still worries about me. “Luther and Benji will be with me and I... I have to do this.”

“But that's just it,” Julia replies as she crouches down in front of me and places her hands on my thighs. “You don't. You don’t have to do this. Luther told me what's going on and, as a mask will be required for the exchange anyway, anyone can do it. It doesn't have to be you.”

“It does.” I shake my head and, solely because it stops me from folding my arms across my chest in a display of defensiveness, rest my hands lightly over Julia's. “It's not that I don't trust anyone else to slap on a mask and do it, it's just that I... I have to be the one to do it.”

“But why?” she queries plainly. “I know that he's a colleague...”

“Friend,” I interrupt, the need to correct her taking over and the word just slipping out of my mouth. “He's a friend, and until sixty minutes ago we thought he was dead. I... I just have to be there to see him for myself.”

“Oh my God...” Her expression brightening, Julia locks her gaze on mine and smiles gently. “You love him. This man, he's not just a friend at all, he's... someone special to you.”

“He's my friend,” I repeat as, unable to hold her gaze, I look away. “That's all. He's an IMF agent and a friend, and... I have to do what I can to get him back.”

“You forget that I know you pretty well,” Julia murmurs, pulling her hands out from under mine before, to my surprise, beginning to do up my laces. “That is, as much as you allow anyone to know you, and I know that this man means far more to you than you're wanting to let on. Now, if that's to protect me, then I'm telling you that there's no need for it. Ethan... Love is love.” Having finished with both my shoe laces, she looks up and cups my cheek in the palm of her hand. “There was a time when we had it, but that time is long past and we both know it. I have Erik now and I love both him and the life we're able to share together. What I would also love is knowing that you had someone like that. You deserve happiness and love, Ethan, and it makes perfect sense to me that you should find this with another agent, someone you can actually be yourself with. Sure, I'd gotten the impression that this may have been with Ilsa, but if it's with this man then it... it doesn't change anything. As I said a moment ago, love is love.”

“I...” Touched by both her acceptance and words of encouragement, I lean forward and kiss her forehead. “Thank you. There's probably more that I should say, but...”

“You don't actually have to say anything,” she murmurs, cutting me off as she stands up and holds out her hand in a silent offer to help me out of the chair. “Other, that is, than answering this for me... Does he love you back?”

Giving a non-committal shrug, I place my hand in hers and, as my body issues forth with yet another complaint with being made to move, allow her to help me upright. “I'm not sure I can...”

“Yeah. He does.”

Surprised as much by Luther's sudden arrival as I am his somewhat adamant statement, I step back from Julia and frown. “You don't know...”

“Yeah. I do.” Shrugging, Luther walks further into the tent and picks up my bag from the bed. “Don't think for a second this is something he's ever come out and said to me, but I ain't blind and I can see it as clear as day.” Pausing, he looks over at Julia and, as a half frown crosses his face, adds, “Trust me. Having seen him in action, there ain't nothing the dude won't do where Ethan's concerned. In that respect they're as bad as each other.”

“In that case,” Julia states, sliding her arms around my waist and pulling me close for a gentle hug, “go. To hell with the medical advice you were never going to listen to anyway, go and get your friend.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Waking to the feeling of considerable pain emanating from my ribs and the unwelcome sensation of being stared intently at, I open my eyes and, despite knowing I'm only delaying the inevitable, ignore Luther as he continues to watch my every minor move in favour of blinking the small screen in front of me into focus. To my decided relief, if not just the tiniest bit of surprise, I see that our plane is now only ninety minutes out from Heathrow and that in turn tells me that I've managed a good six hours of sleep squashed here in the middle seat between Benji and Luther. Considering that I only begrudgingly agreed to attempt a catnap at Luther's insistence, discovering that I've slept for the majority of the flight and that we're almost in London is almost a good enough bit of news to detract from the discomfort I'm in thanks to the combination of the uncomfortable plane seat and the fact I haven't moved for so long.

Almost, that is.

But not quite.

Grunting a greeting at Luther, and how he chooses to translate it – 'good morning', or 'why are you staring at me?' – is up to him, I grimace as I slowly sit up a little straighter and hope that I'm able to get through whatever today ends up throwing at me in one piece.

“You in pain?” Luther queries, narrowing his eyes as his expression clearly indicates that he's on to me and that I'd be wise not to bullshit him.

“If you saw the mess that was hidden under these clothes,” I mutter, “you wouldn't have bothered to ask such a stupid question.”

“Well, fuck me,” he retorts drily as he reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a small bottle of painkillers, “so you really are human after all. It's almost a good job poor old Hunley isn't still around or his entire belief structure where you're concerned would have just come crashing down around his ears.”

“It's not nice to speak ill of the dead,” I reply, snatching the bottle out of his hand before he's even had time to offer it to me and tipping two of the pills out into my palm. “Oh... And if anyone ever told you that you were funny... They lied.” Dry swallowing the pills, I drop the bottle down onto his lap and close my eyes. “You should have woken me.”

“Why? You needed your rest more than I needed you sitting there twitching with nervous anticipation.”

“I'm not nervous. And you should have woken me to get me to move around a bit. Right now I'm getting the feeling that my body may have seized up.”

“You'll be fine once the pills have kicked in. Besides, at the risk of repeating myself here, you're only human and needed your rest.”

“I'd better be fine,” I murmur, opening my eyes as the scent of whatever the culinary masterpiece is the airline is going to dish us up for breakfast begins to waft through the plane. “In fact, as I'm counting on it, I... will... be fine. Once the pills have started to work I'll get up and move around for a bit. That should help.”

“Yeah, well...” Swivelling around in his seat – and subsequently all but blocking my exit to the aisle – Luther fixes me with a look and, as though wanting to reinforce his position as an immoveable object, folds his arms across his chest. “You're not going anywhere until you answer something for me.”

“I take it that this, this pressing question of yours, is why you've been staring at me?” I reply, fixing him with a look of my own. “If you have any concerns about our plan, then...”

“It's not the plan I'm concerned about,” he retorts matter-of-factly. “It's you.”

“I'm fine. Like I just told you, once I start moving around...”

“It's not your ribs I'm worried about.”

“Then what? The plan is sound and...”

“What are you going to do if it's not Brandt?” Luther interrupts flatly. “That, Ethan, is what I'm worried about. Eighteen or so hours ago the dude was dead. Now you believe he's alive...”

“He is alive,” I interject in an adamant tone that comes effortlessly naturally to me because, yes, I truly happen to believe it. Not because it's what I want, or even because it's what my gut feeling is telling me, but because of both the information and technology we're fortunate enough to have had at our disposal. Thanks to Benji having recorded the live feed on the auction page yesterday, he was able to run a biometrics program over the man tied to the chair and we now have no reason to question whether he’s just a random man wearing a mask of Will's face and is in fact, with quite reasonably certainty, Will. This, of course, doesn't mean that there's any guarantee that it'll still be Will who's bought along to the exchange, but...

He's alive.

I know it.

“Okay. Fine. He's alive,” Luther continues, “and you're all ready to charge in and save him. What I want to know, however, is what's going to happen if all of this proves to be some sort of elaborate hoax and it's either not him or you walk into a trap.”

“It...” Sensing Benji stir from his sleep to my left, I glance over at him just in time to see him quickly shut his eyes again and know instinctively that he's choosing to pretend to be still asleep in preference to being dragged into a conversation that, let's face it, none of us are really wanting to have. “You know as much about all of this as I do,” I reply in a measured tone as I return my gaze to Luther. “From what we've been able to dig up on the gang we know that their usual stock in trade are high end cars, drugs, and weapons. They've never dealt in... human trafficking... or whatever it is you'd prefer to call auctioning off someone before, and I think they somehow got roped into it by having had previous dealings with Walker and his damn Apostles. Because of this, I think they just want shot of Will and the exchange will go off without a hitch. We've got it all planned out, and I truly believe we've covered every angle or opportunity for things to stray from the plan covered, and... that's about the sum of it. Easy in, and easy out. I transfer the money, and leave with Will. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about.”

“Or... You leave with... someone,” Luther responds. “In terms of the actual exchange? I'm perfectly down with our plan and, like you, actually have every confidence in it. I also lean towards accepting that this whole selling a human being is outside their comfort zone and that, hey, while I'm at it, they're probably in above their head, but, I don't know... Doesn't this all seem just a little too easy for you?”

“Easy?” I shake my head. “Extremely lucky, more like. The way I see it is this... Walker faked Will's death as some sort of twisted backup plan to either prove he and his Apostles were superior to us in every way or, because Lane seems to like personalising things, to just get to me. He then likely handed him over to this lot with the instruction to watch for something big coming out of Kashmir by a certain date and, if it didn't, to move on to the next stage which was listing him for sale. Look...” Pausing, I pull a face and shake my head again. “If Ilsa hadn't messed with Lane's head by manipulating his sense of time, the plan probably would worked. We'd have logged into Pandora after the auction had ended and... he would have been gone. Sure, we could have worked at tracking down the buyer, but that would have taken time and Lane knows that. He also knows that anything could have happened to Will during that time and that, assuming we ever found him, there was every chance that we'd still be too late to bring him back alive. So...”

“You still haven't answered my question,” Luther interjects with what sounds very much like a resigned sigh. “Again, everything you've just said I get and, while you may not believe me, I'm down with it, I am, but, come on! You can't sit there and tell me this isn't something you've thought about yourself. Just... What if it's not William? What if who we saw on the screen isn't the one dragged along to the exchange?”

Shrugging, I calmly, as though I haven't got a care in the world, pull down my tray table in anticipation of breakfast arriving any time soon, before – equally as calmly – giving the answer I know Luther doesn't want to hear.

“Then all hell is going to break loose.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	3. Chapter 3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“I just want you to know that I really appreciate your assistance here,” I state, straightening my tie for perhaps the fourth or fifth time in the last twenty minutes as Ilsa brings the Jaguar XJ to a smooth stop inside the empty warehouse and kills the engine. “You didn't have to, and...”

“Of course I did,” she replies, unbuckling her seat-belt and casting a fleeting glance at me in the rear vision mirror, “and don't mention it.”

“I still want you to know just how grateful I am,” I reply, feeling for some reason as though I have to make this absolutely clear, “not only for playing the role of chauffeur and backup, but also for finding a way to listen to Lane in the first place. If you hadn't got to him when you did then everything would have turned out very differently.”

“Again, don't mention it. Having been around Lane long enough I knew he'd most likely have one final play up his sleeve and simply did what I felt I had to.” Shrugging, she runs her fingers through the ponytail of the red wig she's wearing and half turns to face me as I sit in the back seat struggling to stop myself from staring intently at my watch. “Having been there when they got you back to the field hospital, are you sure you're up for this?”

“I'm fine,” I respond automatically as, mentally waving the white flag of defeat, I glance down at my watch and see that, all things going to plan, of course, we're finally less than two minutes away from the exchange. “Everything is in place as it should be and I'm confident that we've got everything covered.”

“That wasn't what I meant, and you know it.”

“Ilsa...”

“You should be resting.”

“Believe me, I'm fine. Besides, I'm sure this is going to be a walk in the park.”

“Tell me you took your pills before...”

“You've been talking to Luther, haven't you? Seriously. I'm fine.” Fine, that is, apart from the fact my ribs and general chest area are killing me and my heart beat is once again going out of its way to beat erratically and draw my attention to it, but, well, she doesn't need to know that.

“You didn't answer my question.”

“Fine. No. I haven't taken any pills since breakfast on the plane this morning, and that's because I want my mind to be as clear as possible in case things go south. I don't think they will, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.”

“That's why I'm here, and Benji and Luther are in their designated positions,” Ilsa replies, giving me a look that's as disapproving as it is worried. “Ethan, I know this is important to you, but you have to trust...”

“I'll take them once we have Will, I promise,” I respond, reaching into the pocket of my suit pants and, a bit like my nervous fiddling with my tie, confirming yet again that the tiny bug I'm needing to place on the gang's laptop or tablet when I transfer the money is still there in its case. “You know the plan. It'll work.”

Nodding, she swivels back around and rests her hands lightly in the steering wheel. “You're right. Everything's covered and, as I happen to agree with you that this isn't something this lot are usually in to and they'll be wanting it over and done with even more quickly than we do, I'm sure we'll be on our way within minutes.”

“Here's hoping.” Folding my hands in my lap, I close my eyes and allow myself the luxury of spending a few seconds just running through everything in my head. Alexei Tarasovich being the sort of super rich, paranoid asshole to never so much as contemplate driving anywhere himself or being seen without a beautiful bodyguard, I have Ilsa very kindly filling this role for me, while Benji and his drone controls are set up a couple of streets away and Luther and his sniper rifle is in position on the roof opposite. The bug, with it's nano-tech that I could never hope to understand, in my pocket, once placed on their computer is going to give us access to everything from their location to the complete contents of their hard drive, and with this information we should be able to end everything once and for all. Take the gang down, retrieve the money... temporarily... borrowed from the British Government, track and destroy the other bidders, and... Mission Accomplished. 

And, of course, most importantly we'll have Will back.

“Ethan, while we've got a minute there's something I need to tell...”

“There's a black Bentley heading your way,” Benji's voice suddenly announces in our ear pieces as Ilsa falls silent and my eyes fly open. “Heat sensors show a driver, two more in the back seat, and a body in the boot... uh... sorry, trunk. If they have backup it must be hanging back as there's no other vehicles in the vicinity.”

“Copy that,” I reply, sitting up straight and, courtesy of the mask I'm wearing, having to settle for figuratively putting my game face on. “Looks like we're on,” I add to Ilsa as she reaches inside her jacket to click the safety off the gun nestled in her shoulder holster. “Luther? Anything to add?”

“No sign of life on this roof or others save for a few pigeons,” Luther responds through the ear piece. “Bentley entering warehouse now.”

“Copy that.” Looking through the windscreen, I watch the black Bentley drive silently past our car and come to a stop a couple of metres in front of the Jaguar. The driver, a scruffy looking man in his mid twenties and who really dressed up for the occasion in head to toe Adidas – to the point where he looks like he should be in a rap group from the Nineties – then gets out and opens the back left hand door. “I'd say we were on, wouldn't you,” I comment to Ilsa as another man, again in his early to mid twenties and with delusions of looking either ominous or tough in his all black ensemble of leather jacket, fitted t-shirt, jeans and biker boots, climbs out carrying a laptop.

“Either that or we've found ourselves on the set of a really dodgy music video,” Ilsa retorts with both a smirk and quick roll of her eyes as she opens the driver's door and gets out before opening my door and taking a respectful step back. “I'm playing it as strictly Russian, yes?”

“Da,” I confirm with a nod as I get out of the car and, straightening my suit jacket, flick a cool, dismissive glance at Mr All Black. As I'd been counting on and, to be perfectly honest here given what we know about this gang, been expecting, neither man, despite the hand guns tucked pointedly in the waistband of their pants, gives any indication of posing much of a threat. In fact, given the way their eyes are darting around and both have to keep nervously touching the grip of their gun, as though to reassure themselves that it's still there, I'd say that they were as anxious to get this over and done with as I am. As confident as they may be in their abilities to shift drugs and weapons, getting involved, particularly if it wasn't exactly willingly in the first place, in selling a human being is something else entirely. Lucrative, maybe, but a lot more work and in a far murkier realm, one that if you don't have a really good handle on could quickly go pear shaped and end very badly.

And, going on their body language, they know it.

“You ready to pay?” Mr All Black, in a display of mock bravado, sneers as he opens up the laptop and walks towards me.

“First, my merchandise,” I reply in a heavy Russian accent before all but dismissing his very existence by turning to Ilsa and giving a small shrug. “What is this, amateur hour?” I add in Russian as she scowls and makes a sort of 'pfft' sound under her breath.

“Idiots, more like,” Ilsa retorts in Russian as, with a swish of her ponytail, she comes to stand just behind me and folds her arms across her chest. “Look at them. They look as though they're about to...”

“Oi! When ya 'ere in England ya speak English!” Mr Adidas exclaims defiantly as he glances over at his mate for approval. “Ain't that right, Ro...”

“No names,” Mr All Black hisses, cutting him off as, just to really hammer his annoyance home, he takes his eyes off me long enough to glare absolute daggers at him. “Remember? This is to be anonymous, you dumb fuck.”

“If it helps,” I interject with a – 'dear God, this is so beneath me' – sigh, “she does not speak English, and I have no wish to know your names. Now...” I harden my expression and gesture airily at the Bentley. “My merchandise. Where is it?”

“First you pay, then...”

“No. First I inspect my merchandise. Then I pay.”

“But...”

“Merchandise!”

Mr All Black clearly being a little slow on the uptake in regards to the fact he's not actually in full charge of the situation as he'd planned to be, frowns for a few seconds as his brain scrambles to reroute before, with a shrug, moving back towards the car and tapping on the roof. This results in the third man, dressed somewhat fascinatingly in a combination of both Adidas and black leather, climbing out of the Bentley and, as he's built like a pro-wrestler and obviously the 'muscle' of the group, opening the trunk. He then, and I could be wrong here but I get the impression that autonomous thought isn't exactly his strong point, glances across at Mr All Black for the go ahead to move on to the next step and once he's got it in the form of a curt nod he reaches into the trunk and hauls out a barely conscious man. Wearing a dirty white business shirt and black trousers that both hang loosely on his slight frame, the man's arms are tied behind his back and his head is covered by a black pillowcase, meaning...

… On first sight, he could be anyone.

Sure, he's Will's general height and size, but as I can't see his face it just means proceedings are going to have to take a little longer than we'd all hoped.

“There! There is your merchandise,” Mr All Black snaps as, in an attempt to keep him upright on his bare feet, Mr Muscle roughly shakes the man to full consciousness. “Now you will pay.”

“Now I will not pay,” I retort, slowly looking the man up and down as I calmly place my hand in my pocket in anticipation of being able to pick up the bug when I need it. “Just what kind of operation are you running here? He could be anyone.”

“Hey! Buyer beware and all that,” Mr Adidas interjects as, looking increasingly twitchy, he closes his hand fully around the grip of his gun. “Just fucking pay already!”

“I will not pay for that which I can not confirm is correct,” I reply, making to turn around to head back to the Jaguar. “This exchange is unacceptable...”

“Fine! Have it your way,” Mr All Black mutters, waiting until I've turned back to face him before striding over to the man and ripping the pillowcase off his head. “Happy now? Or do I have to take everything off as well?”

“It... is a start,” I murmur, choking back a sigh of immense relief as, even half hidden under a black blindfold and gag, I recognise Will's familiar features. Pale, bathed in a fine sheen of sweat, and perhaps a little gaunt, but still Will.

Yes!

Yes, yes, yes!

So far, so good.

“Then pay up and he's all yours,” Mr All Black grinds out as he once again shoves his laptop at me. “Enough if enough. If you want...”

“It is enough when I say it is enough,” I reply, shutting the man down with a quick look before tilting my head towards... Will... as a cue to Ilsa to make her move. “While I wish to remove the blindfold myself so that he can see his... new owner... in private, my associate will perform one last check before I am fully satisfied.”

“Look, mister,” Mr Adidas snarls as, clearly having had enough, he pulls his gun out of his waistband, “ya ain't calling the shots 'ere, and...”

Coolly removing her own gun, Ilsa points it at him until, with a disgruntled snort, he falls silent and takes a step back.

“Good boy,” Ilsa murmurs in Russian as, re-holstering her gun, she retrieves a small, cell phone size device from her pocket and sashays over to where Mr Muscle is holding Will up by the shoulders. Reaching him, she looks him in the eye and pointedly holds the device at around waist level until – miracle of miracles – he gets the hint to swivel Will around to give her access to his hands. Smiling, albeit coldly, at Mr Muscle for having got something right, she swiftly presses Will's fingers onto the screen of the device before no doubt confusing him even further by murmuring, “Spasibo,” by way of thanks and returning to my side.

“It's him,” she states, still in Russian and with her expression giving nothing away, as she holds up the screen so that I can see the – Agent Confirmed. William Brandt. – results of the fingerprint test myself. “Do you want to stick to the plan of paying and tracking, or as I don't think it'll be much of a fight, do you want to just take them down now?”

“Stick to the plan,” I murmur, dragging my gaze away from the – beyond – brilliant news on the screen to keep a watchful eye on the men. “Stupidity breeds unpredictability and I just want to get out of here.”

“As you wish.” Returning the device to her pocket, Ilsa walks over to Mr All Black and snatches the laptop away from him. Neither he nor Mr Adidas, going on the way they both stiffen, like this very much but, perhaps sensing that things are finally nearing an end, they don't react in any other way and merely watch as she holds the computer out to me.

“As he is indeed the man I want, I will pay now,” I state, removing both my hand and the tracking device from my pocket before taking the laptop from Ilsa and placing it down on the bonnet of the Jaguar. As the banking page is already up on the screen, I quickly complete the transfer and slide the bug deep inside a USB port before handing the computer back to Ilsa. “It is done,” I comment as she hands the laptop to Mr All Black and his eyes light up at the sight of all the money now sitting in his bank account. “Just as I believe we too are done.”

“It all there?” Mr Adidas demands. “As I've just about 'ad enough of...”

“It's all there,” Mr All Black confirms, closing the laptop and nodding at Mr Muscle. “Get him out of here.”

Actions obviously speaking louder than either words or any other form of acknowledgement in Mr Muscle's world, he scoops Will up as though he weighs next to nothing and lumbers towards the Jaguar. Thinking fast, and without waiting for a cue from me, Ilsa quickly gets in front of him and leads him to the trunk. Opening it, she gestures for Mr Muscle to... dump his package... into it before closing the lid and returning to my side. “It is done.”

“That it is,” I reply as Benji's voice comes through my earpiece and confirms that the tracking device was embedded correctly and that he already has access to their computer. “In fact, I believe it is time to take our leave.” Pausing, I dredge up a grim smile. “Gentlemen. I thank you for your time and for allowing me to purchase that which I desire.”

“Yeah. It's been a pleasure and all that,” Mr All Black mutters as I swear Mr Adidas mumbles, “Sick fuck,” under his breath. “If we can ever be of service again then... you know where to find us.”

“That I do.” There being no need to either say or do anything else, I climb into the back seat of the Jaguar on legs that suddenly feel as though they don't want to hold me up and, as Ilsa closes the door and gets behind the wheel, exhale deeply.

Will...

We've got him.

It's over. Lane's plan failed, and...

He's here, and he's alive.

As exchanges, or even mission work, go, this was close to a non-event in terms of danger, but in terms of how high the stakes were, this...

This was truly in a league of its own.

“They've gone,” Ilsa comments, glancing down at the screen in the dashboard as she starts the engine. “The system has finished its scan,” she continues, referring to the state-of-the-art technology running through the Jaguar, “and his pulse is strong. There's also no sign of any tracking devices or chips in his body, so if you want to get him out...”

“Leave him,” I interrupt, wearily pulling my seat-belt on and gesturing for Ilsa to simply drive off. “I could be wrong, but I get the impression that along with the blindfold he also has earplugs in, which means, along with the drugs, that...”

“He's been kept in a state of sensory deprivation,” Ilsa finishes, putting the car into gear as she places her foot on the accelerator and begins to drive towards the exit. “You don't want to inadvertently stress him out by rushing things.”

“You got it in one,” I reply, wishing that this wasn't the case and that I could go to him right this very instance, but logic, in this instance, having to overrule the heart, I know that for Will's sake I need to be patient. “ As everything is going to come as a bit of a shock to him, I think it's best done in private.”

“We'll be back at the flat soon enough,” she responds, picking up a familiar looking small white bottle from the passenger seat and throwing it back to me. “Here. Now that it's over, take a couple of these and let the others know that we're on our way back.”

“Yes, mom,” I retort, mock saluting her as, seeing no reason to continue denying myself the relief the pills bring, I dutifully tip two into my hand dry swallow them.

“Mother, or mum, if you don't mind,” Ilsa replies as she glances in the rear vision mirror and gives me a light, seemingly forced smile. “When one is in England one speaks English, not American.”

“Yes... boss?” I offer, slipping the bottle into my pocket as I settle back in my seat and, as I've become rather good at these last twenty-four hours or so, mentally count down the minutes until we're back at our base in Canary Wharf and I can finally be – properly – reunited with Will.

“I have to say that works rather well for me.”

“I thought it would. Now... Having done as I was told with the pills, what was my second task?”

“Luther and Benji. They're no doubt waiting for your confirmation to move.”

“No doubt.” Proving once again that I can, on occasion, do as I'm told, I activate my comm and give the others the all clear to return to the flat. While Luther, no surprises there seeing as he had a bird's eye view of proceedings from the roof, merely mutters that he's already en route, Benji can't help himself and just has to ask a few questions and I answer them as quickly as I can as Ilsa glides the Jaguar through London's constantly heavy traffic.

“You've got him?”

“Yes. We've got him.”

“And it's definitely Will?”

“Fingerprints confirm it.”

“How is he? Can I talk to him?”

“He's alive, and no.”

“Why? Is he unconscious? Or hurt?”

“He's in the trunk. Uh. Sorry. As I'm in England and have already been told off once for speaking American, boot. He's in the boot.”

“Why? Shouldn't you get him out?”

“How about you can the twenty questions and I explain back at the flat?”

“But...”

“No buts. I don't like it anymore than you do, but I believe it to be for the best. So...”

“Shut up and get moving?”

“Wiser words have never come out of your mouth.”

“See you soon, then.”

Pulling my earpiece out, I slip it in the pocket with the pills and, because it's true, I don't like it, make a deliberate point of not thinking about Will being stuck in the trunk. I stand by my reasoning for leaving him there, as I honestly do believe that he'll benefit from being... released... in an controlled environment, but it's still not a nice feeling knowing that he's effectively clueless in regards to what's going on and I can only hope that it doesn't take too long to get back to Canary Wharf.

“I know it's not ideal, but he's already in a better place than he was ten minutes ago,” Ilsa states as though reading my mind, “so stop fretting and concentrate on the positives. You were right about the gang being out of their depth, the exchange went off without a hitch, and you have your agent back. All in all, I think you have rather a lot to smile about.”

“The only thing that would make my smile any bigger is if I could share the good news with Lane in person,” I reply. “Not only did his plan thankfully fail, but his minion, Walker, chose what would have to be one of the thickest gangs I've ever had the misfortune to deal with to do his dirty work. I'm certainly not complaining, mind you, about this as God knows it made our job easier. But... Seriously! Where on earth did he find them?”

“I can only imagine he was a little desperate at the time.” Bringing the car to a stop at a red light, Ilsa drums her fingers on the steering wheel and fixes her gaze on the road ahead. “Ethan, I... I have something that I need to tell you.”

“What is it?” I prompt, sitting up straighter so that she can see, should she glance back at me, that she's got my full attention.

“Believe it or not, Six have offered me my job back.”

“I thought that...”

“After teaming up with the US enemy and running around Kashmir that they were going to sever all ties with me once and for all?”

“Something like that. Although, before you continue, I always thought that that would have been an idiotic decision to make.”

“Well, it would appear that someone high up may just happen to agree with you. Either that, or they think I'll be easier to control if they...”

“Still own you?”

“Something like that,” Ilsa murmurs with a sigh. “I was surprised to receive the offer, to be honest, as I'd all but given up on... returning to the fold.”

“Is it what you want though?” I query as the lights turn green and we're once again on our way. “I was under the impression that...”

“No. It's not what I want. Not anymore,” Ilsa responds, cutting me off. “I thought I did. I even thought it would be like... coming home.”

“But...?”

“But then I realised that I didn't owe them anything and that I needed a change more than I did a... safety net.”

“Any agency the world over would be more than happy to have you on their books,” I state, leaning forward and giving her shoulder a quick squeeze. “In fact, while I would have thought that this would have gone without saying, the IMF would...”

“And sixteen hours ago I would have leapt at the chance to join you, Ethan,” Ilsa interrupts, glancing in the rear vision mirror just long enough to give me a wan smile. “Then I got the phone call from Luther explaining where Lane's cryptic message had led you and asking for my help, and... Everything changed.”

“It...” Knowing exactly what she means but not quite knowing how to handle it, I relax back into my seat and, somewhat lamely, add, “It doesn't have to change anything. You're an exceptional agent who would be an asset to any team. If it's where you'd like to be, IMF would be lucky to have you.”

“Everything's changed, Ethan, and you know it,” she replies. “Maybe it was only in my head, or... wishful thinking on my part, but Luther filled me in on...”

“If he's spoken out of turn, or... uh... put his foot in it, then...” Trailing off, I stare down at my hands and can't quite decide whether to be grateful to Luther for being so – brutally – honest with Ilsa, or annoyed at him for taking matters so firmly in his own hands as, in turn, he's wrenched them out of mine in the process. 

“He told me exactly what I needed to hear,” Ilsa responds plainly, “so please don't be angry with him. Ethan, we... We can't help who we have feelings for, and the only important thing here is that you've been given a second chance.”

“If...” Damn it. Although I knew, deep down, that Ilsa had feelings towards me, my admiration and fondness for her has always been platonic and, hindsight being a bitch and all that, it's obvious now that I should have made a far better job of making this clear to her. “If I've led you on or...”

“You didn't lead me on. You believed in me and stood by me, and I... Never mind. It doesn't matter now.”

“Yes it does. If I've hurt...”

“You haven't hurt me, Ethan, you've... opened my eyes and set me on a fresh course. I also know that I can count on you should I ever need you and, as I couldn't ask for more, that's more than enough.”

“I still feel bad about how...”

“Don't. You've got nothing to feel bad about. Again, you've been given a second chance and I'm truly happy for you. Knowing personally that missed opportunities aren't any fun, all I ask of you is that you make the most of the amazing gift you've been given and don't squander it.”

“But... What about you? If you've said no to Six and no longer want to join the IMF, then...”

“Interpol. I've accepted a role at Interpol and fly to France this afternoon to start.”

“That's... quick.”

“I needed quick,” Ilsa responds bluntly as, courtesy of the car being stopped in traffic, she swivels around to face me. “Ethan, it's okay. You're not to worry about me. You did nothing wrong and you have got to believe me when I say I'm happy for you getting your friend back. Things just... weren't meant to be, that's all.”

“I still...”

“I've said all I wanted to say on the subject,” she declares, giving me the sort of look that tells me I'd be wise to take her word on it as she turns her attention back to the road. “Things are... clearer... now for everyone and we just have to move forward.”

“You know I'll always be there if you need me,” I state, not so much to get the last word in but because I just want her to know that while, okay, things have changed in one sense, they haven't changed completely. 

“I know. Just as I'll always have your back. Now... I don't think we need to say anything more on the subject, do you?”

“If that's what...”

“It's what I want.”

“In that case...” Accepting that there's nothing to be achieved from continuing this conversation as Ilsa has both said all that she wanted to and, presumably, heard what she'd been expecting, I simply nod and, leaning my head back against the headrest, close my eyes. I could apologise some more for having inadvertently given her the wrong impression, or I could change tack and explain with heartfelt enthusiasm that the IMF would love to have her, but as neither option would be giving her what she wants to hear I honestly feel that in this instance it's best to remain silent. I wish things were different, but as that appears to be just about the story of my life, there you go. A door that I thought was firmly closed has opened, while one that she thought was ajar has slammed shut.

Opening my eyes, I look out through the side window and watch the becoming more and more familiar as years go by sights of London slip by. Recognising landmarks here and there, I mentally tick them off as we close in on Canary Wharf and, although I realise it's somewhat cowardly of me, concentrate on the cityscape as opposed to thinking about either Ilsa or... Will. I don't think about him being tied up and in a world of darkness and confusion in the trunk. Nor do I think about...

… What happens next.

Ilsa's take on being given a second chance is a nice one, and I'll admit that, too focused on just getting him back, it's one I hadn't even really thought about. He's alive. We'll be back together again. There'll be nothing to stop me from...

Blinking a black cab as it pulls over to pick up a passenger into focus as a way to clear my thoughts, I settle on running a mantra of 'one step at a time' on a loop through my head and thanks to sheer dedication and concentrate on my part this actually manages to keep me occupied long enough for Ilsa to drive the Jaguar into the underground garage of the apartment block. She then uses the remote on top of the dashboard to open the roller door into the private garage that comes with the penthouse apartment Hunley had thought befitting the Secretary of the IMF and, once we're inside, parks the car alongside the equally as private elevator.

“It's been a pleasure working with you, Ethan,” Ilsa announces as she opens the driver's door and gets out. “And once again,” she continues as I join her in standing alongside the Jaguar, “I'm pleased that you've been given this second chance. Whether you're willing to accept it or not, you deserve it and I truly hope you are able to make the most of it. Now, however...” Trailing off, she gives me a sad look and gently glides the back of her hand along the side of my face. “As I have a bag to retrieve and a flight to catch, I must be on my way.”

“But...” I quickly reach out and take her hand in mine. “What about Luther and Benji? Can't you wait until they're here in order to say goodbye?”

“I have things to do and little time in which to do them,” she replies, pulling her hand free of mine and beginning to walk towards the door. “Ethan, please... I'll speak to the others later, I promise, but... I... I really have go.” With that said, she strides off and doesn't even look back when I call out, “Good bye and good luck. Interpol are lucky to have you.”

As...

… One door closes, another one opens.

Despite being both a little saddened, and taken aback by Ilsa's abrupt departure, I know that I have far more pressing things to attend to and have just opened the driver's door to access the trunk release when Luther's BMW arrives in the garage and comes to a stop next to the Jaguar. Climbing out of the car, he gives me an openly curious look over the roof and, of course, just has to go there.

“What did you do to Ilsa?”

“Oddly enough, I didn't do anything to her,” I mutter, pressing the required button to send the trunk flying silently open, “but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Then why has she gone already?” Luther queries as I close the door and begin to walk towards the back of the car.

“Having accepted a job at Interpol, she's got a flight to catch,” I respond. “Look. That's all there is to it. We're still on good terms and have each other's backs, and... If you want to know anything else you'll have to ask her when she calls to say goodbye.”

“I might just have to do that,” he replies, coming over to stand behind the Jaguar and peering down into the trunk. “He okay?”

“We'll find out in a couple of minutes,” I murmur, flinching at the sight of Will bound and gagged in front of me. “Can you...”

“Haul his ass upstairs? Sure. I can do that.”

“Thanks. I'd do it, only...”

“As you'd be lucky to lift so much as a new born kitten at the moment, I'd like to see you try,” Luther retorts with a quick smirk before his expression turns serious and he gives my upper arm a brief squeeze. “At least he's back, yeah...”

“Thank God for small mercies, huh,” I reply as Benji's Mini Cooper comes to a stop next to the BMW and he bounds straight out of it looking flustered.

“Was that Ilsa I just saw walking along... Shit! Is that Will?” Running over, Benji reaches for Will's blindfold just as Luther begins to gently lift him out of the trunk. “Why is he still...”

Moving quickly, I bat Benji's hand away and shake my head. “Leave it. I know it looks bad, but...”

“This isn't the place, Benji,” Luther finishes, grimacing as he does what he can to get Will into as comfortable a position as he can manage. “Think about it. Sure, he might be drugged and unaware of what's going on, but the dude's also one of us. If instinct kicks in and his first reaction is to bolt, then he could disappear again before we knew it.”

“Come on, Benji,” I add, taking him by the arm and leading him over to the elevator as, clearly not liking what he's seeing, he continues to stare at Will with a mortified expression on his face. “I don't like it either, but as I suspect he's been kept in a state of sensory deprivation I want to be able to... free... him in a private and controlled environment.”

“I just... I hate seeing him like this.”

“We all do.” Pressing the button that opens the elevator doors, I step back and gesture everyone inside. “It's only for another minute or so though, and...”

“Oh my God, Ethan, he's alive!” Benji exclaims as, obviously having made his reluctant peace with things, he grabs my arm and beams. “Will, he... He's alive! Sure, he looks a bit worse for wear, but...”

“He's alive,” I finish with quite a broad smile of my own as I hit the button for the top floor and, once the doors are closed, the elevator begins to rise. “Through little more than luck and fortuitous timing, we have him back. Now... Benji, when we get inside I'd like you to call Dr Scanlon to come and check him over. Then, once you've done that, I want you and Luther to bring the Acting Secretary up to speed on things before turning your attention to what you can get off the Gang of Idiots' laptop and working out where it can take you.”

“Absolutely,” Benji readily confirms as, having reached our floor, the elevator doors glide open and we follow Luther out into the entrance hall. “I'll call the doc and then get straight to work.”

“Main bedroom, yeah?” Luther queries even as begins to walk in that direction. “I'll put him in there before leaving you to it...”

“The main bedroom sounds good,” I respond, making to follow Luther but coming to an abrupt stop courtesy of Benji closing his hand around the back of my suit jacket. “It's okay, Benji,” I mutter, taking the cheat's way out by shrugging out of the jacket and letting it fall to the floor. “This shouldn't take long and you can see him the minute I'm sure he's okay with things.”

“It's not that,” Benji responds, hurrying to get in front of me. “As...” He gestures at my head. “Mask. I just wanted to make sure you took that off before... uh... really giving Will something to freak out over.”

“Shit!” Stopping, I rip the mask and wig off and, as Benji holds out his hand to take them from me, give him a rueful look. “Thanks. I can't believe I hadn't even thought of the damn thing,” I mutter, running my fingers through my hair in a half-assed attempt to make it look a bit more presentable. 

“Well, you know me. I'm here to help,” Benji replies, tilting his head in the direction of the bedroom as Luther walks out of it. “Go. Go and reassure Will that everything's okay.”

“I...” Nodding, I walk past Luther and, placing my hand on the door frame, glance over my shoulder. “I'll do my best.”

“You'll be fine. You both will,” Benji calls out as I walk into the room and close the door behind me.

Having no real thought out plan of attack, or, for that matter any specific expectations here other than the age old favourites of... instinct, and hope for the best, I look at Will as he sits, head bowed and slumped shouldered, on the foot of the bed and decide to start by releasing his hands. It's something of a gamble, as Luther was right in saying that he's one of us and, regardless of either his physical or mental condition, his number one goal of finding a way to escape would be as natural as breathing is to him, but I'm still going to do it. By having his arms freed he'll be able to keep his balance better and, while I probably shouldn't even be thinking along these lines it will also open the option of being able to take his hands in mine.

Not...

Not that that's a priority or... even important.

Decision made, I pull a small Swiss Army knife out of my pocket and walk over to the bed. Will, if he's even aware of my presence, doesn't so much as move a muscle as I take a seat on the mattress next to him and reach for his bound wrists. Still half expecting him to leap into action the second his arms are free, this doesn't bother me too much and I quickly slice through the zip tie holding his wrists together. Returning the knife – because if there's one thing all my training has drilled into me it’s that it's better to be safe than sorry – to my pocket, I gently pick up Will's hands one by one and place them on his lap as, to my growing concern, he continues to give every impression of... playing dead. The fact that he hasn't used the opportunity to immediately rip his blindfold off and shift away from me is, again, a cause for concern and I start to wonder about just how drugged up he really is and whether, perhaps, I'd be better off waiting for Dr Scanlon to arrive before going any further. 

But...

… Be it to Will's possible detriment or not, I can't wait. Not when I'm so close to, I hope, proving to him that he's free and that, finally, it's all over.

I'll just have to be careful and follow any cues he manages to give off, that's all.

Biting back a sigh as I mentally cross my fingers that by pushing ahead I'm not also pushing my luck, I untie Will's gag and throw it down on to the bed before swiftly doing the same with the blindfold. I then, even before the blindfold has reached the mattress, carefully pry out his earplugs and, quickly getting to my feet, position myself directly in front of him.

Although he's now free from any form of restraint, Will keeps both his head lowered and his eyes closed as I crouch down and, not quite knowing what else to do with them, place my hands lightly on his knees. “Will... It's okay,” I murmur, hating the sight of how red raw his wrists are from being kept tied together for so long. “It's over and you're safe.”

His eyes flying open as he jerks his head up, Will blinks me into focus and, at the risk of sounding like a drama queen here, looks like he's not just seen a ghost, but a tremendously horrifying one at that. Sucking his breath in, he stares at me wide eyed for a few, seemingly long and very drawn out, seconds before launching into life and scrabbling backwards across the bed. Clearly not content with putting this short amount of distance between us, he then half falls off the mattress and stumbles along the wall towards the empty corner of the room.

“Will!” Startled, and that's putting it mildly, by his reaction, I get to my feet and slowly, with my hands stretched out in a calming gesture, move towards him as, looking agitated, if not downright panicked, he slides down the wall and presses his back into the corner. “Hey... It's okay. You're safe.”

Frantically shaking his head, Will whimpers like an animal in pain and hugs his knees to his chest.

Alarmed, and, again, this is an understatement of monumental proportions, by how he's reacting and trying my hardest not to be consumed by flashbacks to nasty little devices embedded in heads, I drop into a kneeling position and shrug helplessly. “Will... Look at me. Everything's okay.”

“You...” Whimpering again as silent tears begin to stream down his cheeks, Will pushes his back further into the corner and endeavours to make himself as small as possible. “You're dead,” he whispers hoarsely. “You're... You're dead and I don't know what you want from me!”

“Hey! What?” Smiling gently, which is an example of willpower at its best because, really, all I feel like doing is screaming, I shift a little closer to Will. “What are talking about? I'm not dead. Look... It's me, Ethan.”

“You're dead,” he repeats through laboured breaths as he gives me a wild eyed look that, no shit, literally sends shivers down my spine. “Walker killed you. He... He told me himself that he killed you and... I... I can't do this! Just... Anything... Anything but this...”

Walker. I should have known that mother fucker would have had a personal hand in this.

“Will... Shh... It really is me,” I murmur, keeping my hand outstretched but making no effort to actually touch him in case it pushes him over the edge. “I'm alive and here with you. Walker, on the other hand, well... That bastard's dead and when you're up to it Benji would be only too happy to show you the photographic proof..”

“I... I don't know who you are, but you're not Ethan. You... You can't be.”

“Actually, I can, and I am,” I respond, cocking my head to the side as I decide to change tack in the hope of freeing us from this repetitive loop before Will passes out from the stress. “Will... Come on, you need to calm down and listen to me.”

“Just leave me alone! I don't know who you are, but you're not...”

“We first met in Moscow. You were the Chief Analyst at the time and you were with the then Secretary in his car when he picked me up,” I state, still doing my best to smile gently as the words fall out of my mouth. “We then had a little swim in a cold river before going to Dubai... where you saved me from being splattered all over the base of the Burj Khalifa. Remember? You then, despite your misgivings, donned a magnetic suit in Mumbai and...”

“I can read a report as well as you can,” Will interrupts in a flat, defeated tone. “As I know they had access to the IMF system, you... you're just repeating what you've read.”

“Okay. So I'll try again, then,” I murmur as, obviously still with it enough to apply at least a small amount of his beloved logic to the situation, I find a degree of hope in Will's considered response. “What about... London! Remember when the Prime Minister said that you had warm hands? That's not the sort of thing to be mentioned in a report.”

“Hunley was there, and... as he was still CIA at the time you have no idea how detailed his report might have been,” he retorts, calming down just enough to scowl at me through the tears. “You're not telling me anything that can't be found out some way or another, so... Stop it. Just... Stop it and do whatever you want with me! I... I just don't care anymore...”

“I'm not going to stop until you believe me,” I reply, shifting just that little bit closer and wafting my hand over his knee. “Will, you... Damn it! You like cats, take sugar in your coffee, are better at humouring Benji when he's on one of his pop culture rants than anyone else I know, and... for some unknown reason you actually like wearing suits. Your favourite food is baked cheesecake, you'll only read books in print form because you associate reading anything on a screen with work, and you... have more watches than any one man needs. Uh... What else? You're not particularly a morning person and, although this isn't something I quite understand myself, you don't like heights very much either. You're also easily the most intelligent person that I know and... and, Will, you're my friend. You... You're my friend and I want you to realise that everything really is going to be okay. I'm not dead, and you're safe. No-one's going to hurt you and... we'll get through this...”

Something in everything I've just said getting through to Will in some small way at least, his tears dry up and, lifting his head a little, he looks across at me through bright eyes. “Walker killed you,” he whispers hesitantly. “He... He told me all about it in graphic detail...”

“If you want graphic detail, just wait until I tell you the story of how he met his long overdue demise,” I respond, throwing caution to the winds as I drop my hand down onto Will's knee. “Will... What more can I say to you that will make you believe that this is actually real? Maybe... I know. How about you ask me something that you know I'd know the answer to... Uh... Hang on.” Pausing in response to a soft knock on the door, I listen as Benji calls out that Dr Scanlon is a quarter of an hour away and suddenly, in a glorious moment of serendipity, know just exactly what I have to say next.

Smiling, I take Will's hands in mine and, as he both tenses and bites down on his bottom lip, simply state, “Mexico City. Remember how we got caught in that Godforsaken downpour and how, once back at the apartment, something... was going to happen before Benji materialised and ruined the moment? Will? Do you remember that day as clearly as I do?”

“We...” Sniffing as tears once again begin to well in his eyes, Will abruptly pulls his hands free and after quickly shifting into a kneeling position, slumps against me. “We were going to kiss!” he exclaims as, instinctively, our arms settle around each other and we embrace tightly. “Ethan... Oh my God, it really is you. You... You're really alive! I... Oh my God. Thank you. I... I thought I'd never see you again...”

Although it crosses my mind that I could reply in kind, I remain silent for fear of ruining the moment and simply hug Will, who I swear is using every last ounce of his strength to cling to me, as though his very life depended on it. My ribs hurt from all the pressure they're being put under, and my eyes sting from the out-of-nowhere tears I can feel falling from them, yet none of this matters.

Will's alive, I have him in my arms, and I don't know if I've ever felt any happier.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	4. Chapter 4

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

All things considered, I should be feeling on top of the world. I mean, let's face it, I won. Hell, compared to the alternative, I won the fucking jackpot. Walker's dead. His so-called Apostles are well on their way to being wiped off the face of the earth. Lane, with yet another failure under his belt to stew on, is rotting behind bars. Julia is safe and loves the life she now leads. Will's alive and sleeping behind a half-closed door barely metres away from where I'm sitting on the sofa.

Just...

All's well that ends well.

I couldn't have asked for a better outcome and know that it's true, that I really... am... one of the 'lucky ones'.

Yet...

Alone here in the open plan kitchen/living area of Hunley's top-of-the-range flat, the one that he'd been so convinced would be the flagship of safe-houses everywhere and which he was so proud of, all I feel is... flat.

Flat. Empty. Perhaps even numb.

The unadulterated joy I felt at having Will in my arms only a few short hours ago hasn't simply just up and left me so much as it's been wiped out by what I now know to be the true cost of the victory I should be sitting here basking in.

Hunley's dead. Why? Because, like the mythical white knight, he came charging across the Atlantic to London in order to both save me from the bullshit Walker was feeding the CIA and to ensure that the mission was able to stay on track. He left the security of D.C. for me, and now he's dead.

Julia was once again put in danger. Why? To be used as a pawn in an evil game that she should never have even been aware of, let alone a part of. Walker used her, and by extension all of the other medics and volunteers manning the field hospital, as a way to get at me. Clearly I'm such a liability to everyone I've ever cared for that it doesn't even have to matter to the assholes whether they're still an active part of my life as, hey, they're fair game anyway.

Ilsa's accepted a role at Interpol that no doubt will be beneath her skill set and which will probably have her questioning her choice in next to no time at all. Why? Because I was too focused on winning to pay any attention to the, according to Luther, 'glaringly obvious' signs that, if I'd actually been aware of I could have gently... clarified... for her. In my own way, I love Ilsa. She's gorgeous and brilliant and a complete asset to have around. On a more personal level, I enjoy her company and count her amongst the very small group of people I can both call my friend and rely on. I just don't see her in the same romantic light that she views me which, while sad and unfortunate for Ilsa, is actually for the best. She mightn't see it that way, but with history so firmly on my side, I know that I'm right, that she'd be far better off if our paths had never crossed.

Which...

… Leads me to Will.

Will who was abducted and had his death faked before being held, drugged and captive for close to four weeks. Why? Well, not only because they knew his 'death' would unsettle me more than if it had been anyone else's, but also as a form of insurance policy. One last way to really fuck with me, if you like. If Lane's and Walker's worst case scenario of epic fail eventuated and I was left feeling all smug and self-satisfied at having won, then discovering that Will was still alive and had been purchased by some unknown bastard that was going to do God alone knows what to him was going to be their parting gift to me. 

Everything that was done to him, along with what... could have... been done to him, and yes, the hypothetical realm, given what I now know, does need to be taken into consideration as well, all boils down to a sick and twisted way of getting to me.

Sure, Will's been an IMF agent long enough to have a few grudge-bearing idiots of his own slithering around that would like nothing more than to get their own back at him. Making enemies, indeed, powerful enemies with the wherewithal to make their move when you least expect it, is just part and parcel of the job. It's not nice, and can definitely bite you on the ass, but it just comes with the territory.

It's just...

… In this instance it wasn't Will's past that was going to catch up with him, it was mine.

The chip Benji had me embed in Mr All Black's computer having done its job magnificently by giving us full access to not only the gang's own operation but also details on everyone who has ever had any dealings with them, we know now who the other two bidders for Will were, and...

Guess who had had past, bloody, deadly, and costly dealings with them both?

Why, me, of course.

That wonderful little line in Will's auction listing about being one of my known associates clearly grabbing their attention at the same time as a flood of unwanted memories washed over them at the sight of my name, it would appear that they decided in a moment of brilliance that, well, he'd do. It didn't matter that they'd probably never even heard of him before as, unlike me, he was there and available, and, well, you've got to start somewhere, don't you... Knowing me, coupled with the hope that I'd somehow become aware of his predicament and would either lose my shit or stumble into a carefully laid trap by dutifully coming for him, was enough to both make him desirable and seal his fate.

Remembering, as I do all of my missions, my dealings with the men doing the bidding, along with knowing what they're capable of, it quite literally makes me feel sick to the stomach knowing that one of them could have got their hands on Will. One in particular, Silvagni, is a known sadist whose only son I just happened to kill in self-defence eight years ago. If he'd been the successful bidder, I...

… I can't. Cowardly of me or not, I can't even go there. 

Just as I can't placate myself with the fact that by once again popping up on our radar that these men, and most likely their entire operations as well, will pretty soon be feeling the full force of the IMF, backed, if required, by the CIA, coming down on them like a tonne of bricks. Benji and Luther, armed with all the resources of both organisations, neither of whom liked hearing about how easily they'd been fooled in regards to Will's death and wanting to disguise their embarrassment in the form of action, are already en route to Silvagni's compound while another team have been dispatched to pick up Morrison.

One way or another, we'll get them and the agencies will be able to pat themselves on the back over a clean up job well handled.

Only...

… It's not going to matter. Not to me, anyway. Sure, I'll be pleased that they'll be off the streets and paying for their – attention in Will – crimes, but it won't change the fact that the common denominator in all of this is me.

Unintentional, along with best-intentioned though it may be, I'm the cause of so much death, suffering, and threats that everyone would be in a better place if I just upped and disappeared.

“Ethan?”

Will's voice, soft and anxious, drawing me out of the suffocating mass of dark thoughts circling in my head, I sit up straighter and, noticing that night has fallen and the flat is bathed in darkness, automatically reach out and turn on the table lamp.

“I'm here,” I reply, glancing over the back of the sofa and finding Will, pale faced and dressed in black pyjama pants and a navy blue t-shirt, holding on to the bedroom's door frame as though he needs it for support. Thanks to Dr Scanlon's examination, I know that, along with being sore from being restrained for so long and needing to endure withdrawal symptoms from whatever it was they'd kept him dosed up on, Will's mainly just dehydrated and a little malnourished and that with a few days of rest, hydration and sustenance, he should make a fairly quick recovery. Not, however, that you'd believe any of it looking at him right now. Clearly weak and unsteady on his feet, he looks, as the saying goes, like death warmed up and... because I've decided that this is all about me, the sight of him makes me feel even worse. 

“I... I woke up and I didn't know if things were real or... or if I'd been dreaming,” Will murmurs hesitantly as, I suspect through sheer determination alone, he slowly makes his way around the sofa and sinks down onto it with a sigh of relief. “Ethan? This... is... real, yeah?”

“It's real,” I mutter, getting abruptly to my feet and, as Will blinks at me with obvious confusion, making my way over to the kitchen area. “You're safe, Benji and Luther are on their way to Italy to finalise... uh... a few things, and... once I've gotten you something to drink I'm going to bed.”

It's a cop out, this need to shut myself away from him, but...

… Will deserves better than me, and the sooner he becomes aware of this the better.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Oh!” Benji suddenly exclaims just as I'm about to end the call. “Before I go, let me speak to Will for a minute. I want to know how he's doing.”

“Sorry. You can't do that at the moment,” I reply in a mild tone that, as I'm such a consummate actor when I need to be, conveys just the right tone of regret. “I can let him know that you called though and perhaps...”

“Don't tell me he's still asleep?” Benji interrupts with what I know to be a heartfelt sigh of disappointment. “I know we're in different time-zones... Hang on... Let me work it out. Actually... We're only an hour ahead of you in here in Rome, so as it's mid afternoon in London... shouldn't he be awake by now?”

“All I can tell you is that he was still asleep when I left,” I mutter, glancing at my watch even though I have nowhere to be and don't actually care what the time is.

“When you left? Wait... What?” Benji replies, the shock he's feeling at this unexpected titbit coming through loud and clear in his voice. “I thought it sounded like you were outside, but I just assumed you were out on the balcony.”

“Well, you assumed wrong.”

“Where are you, then?”

“Does it matter?”

“No. But... Shouldn't you be with Will?”

“Why? It's not like he needs a babysitter.”

“But I thought...”

“Trust me, Benji, he's recovering well,” I murmur with a sigh. “Dr Scanlon came by last night and was pleased with how he's doing. His energy levels are still low, but he's through the worst of the withdrawal symptoms and is now able to keep food down. Seriously. You don't have to worry. He'll be fine.”

“While you have no idea how pleased I am to hear that,” Benji replies, “I'm still a little curious as to why you're not with him. I mean, I thought you wouldn't be wanting to let him out of your sight.”

“Well, again you thought wrong. He doesn't need me hovering over his every move, and I needed some fresh air.”

“Why do I get the impression you're not telling me something, Ethan?”

“I have no idea. Perhaps you just have a suspicious mind.”

“You'd tell me, yeah, if something was...”

“Look, Benji, thanks for the update but I really have to go. I'll get Will to give you a call when he's feeling up to it.”

“Wait! I...”

Terminating the call before Benji can finish, I turn my phone off and slip it into the pocket of my jeans. As is an all too familiar feeling these days, I'm not proud of myself for either deflecting Benji's concern or hanging up on him, but pathetically I don't know what else I could have done. If I'd tried to explain that I was sitting by the Thames aimlessly watching the boats float by because it was better for Will if I stayed out of his way then, knowing Benji, he probably would have lost it and I need him to remain focused on what has now become quite an important mission. While he and Luther have already taken down Silvagni and have him in custody, by looking into his organisation they've discovered that his younger brother, Roberto, has moved into the black market of people smuggling and are now on his trail with the intent of bringing him down as well. Part of me almost finds it amusing that Silvagni and his brother's operations are going to be obliterated thanks solely to his misguided interest in Will, but then I'm reminded of... why... he even had that interest in the first place and my mood darkens.

Sighing, I stand up and, despite not particularly wanting to, begin the forty minute walk back to the flat. Although I didn't lie to Benji about Will not needing a babysitter, I nonetheless feel compelled to check back in on him and hope he's still resting peacefully. If he's asleep, or shuffling around like a zombie, which has basically been the case for the past two days, then things should be fine. I can slip into nursemaid mode and fuss around him as I have been without actually having to... talk to him in any detail. It's a calculated move on my part, but it seems to have been working well enough. I make sure he has everything he needs and answer any work related question he may have, but then if he shows any sign of wanting to stray into more personal territory I quickly feign a flare up of my own injuries and take to the sanctuary of the bedroom. 

This, merely treating him like a patient that I've somehow found in my care, won't work forever though and I'm already dreading the moment when he's alert enough to ask just what the hell my problem is. And it's coming, too. I know it is. He's getting stronger by the hour and there's already been times when I've been too slow to stop myself from seeing the doubt and concern in his expressive eyes. Like Will, my ribs have been getting better by the day and, while I know in myself that I'm still a fair way off being match fit, I've started toying with the idea of playing the mission card and just up and leaving to join Luther and Benji. Having everything in hand, they don't need me, and I'd probably regret it the second they began questioning my motives for leaving Will, but at least, by losing myself in the mission, I'd have something to do and could escape the confines of my own treacherous head. Will could go back to D.C. and work on his own fitness, and I could...

… Hide.

Basically.

I know it's a shit plan. Just as, caught tight by all the thoughts of doom and gloom that are weighing me down at the moment, I'm not even sure I currently have it in me to put it into motion. I go through the motions of tending to Will, and I busy myself with monitoring Luther and Benji from afar, and I...

… Feel sorry for myself.

Basically.

Even today's... short-walk-that-turned-into-five-hours-of-boat-watching... hasn't really done anything to lift my mood. The sun on my face has been nice, and watching life on the Thames has certainly been strangely addictive, but it's not as though it's achieved anything. Will's still going to be in the flat. I'm still going to be too weak to either walk away from him in his current state or sit him down and try to explain how, really, I'm the root of pain and suffering to those I care about and how, for his own good, he has to forget about me.

I'm...

… Still going to care about him far more than I should and want to be with him.

Coming to the hardly startling realisation that I far prefer the whole... doing... side of things over actually having to... think... about them as I reach the block of flats, I eschew having to smile blandly at the bored looking desk clerk in the foyer in favour of the anonymity of entering through the underground garage and make my way over to the elevator. Getting in, I press the button for the top floor and fail dismally in my attempt to think happy, calming thoughts as the doors close and it begins to rise. It's all very well knowing that I'm being stupid – most likely in more ways than one, at that – and that, as it really is up to me, I somehow just have to settle on a way forward, but it doesn't help.

Entrenched as I am in wallowing in self-induced pity, I'm not even sure if there's anything that could help anyway.

The doors of the elevator gliding open reminding me that it's once again time to put my game face on, I walk across the entrance hall and into the living area. There, sitting on the sofa and dressed in jeans and a black long sleeve t-shirt, I find Will and I'm so surprised by this that all I can do is – emulate a deer in the spotlights – come to a sudden, flat footed stop. 

Shit.

I'm not ready for this.

I'm... so... not ready for this.

Swivelling around to face me, Will gives a small shrug and, in a clear voice, states, “I'm sorry.”

“Sorry?” I respond blandly as I focus on acting as casually as possible by taking my jacket off and draping it neatly over the back of the armchair. “What have you got to apologise for?”

“I wish I knew,” he replies quietly. “Seriously, Ethan. Whatever it is I've done to make you avoid me or... or worse... treat me like a stranger, I'm sorry...”

Again. Shit.

“I...” Flopping down into the armchair, I run my fingers through my hair and shrug. “You haven't done anything.”

“No? Could have fooled me,” Will mutters, scowling as he tries in vain to catch my gaze. “For God's sake, Ethan, you can't even look at me! Was it because I got captured? Have I let you down because I wasn't able to escape? I... Clearly I've done something and I need to know...”

“You haven't done anything,” I repeat, flashing him a practised – 'there, there, everything's okay' – smile, “and there's nothing to beat yourself up over in regards to being captured either. No one could have done anything on the cocktail of drugs they had you on, and... of course you haven't let me down.”

“Then what is it?” he demands, reaching his foot out and pushing on the leg of the coffee table in an attempt to get my attention. “Something's changed since you freed me in the bedroom and... not knowing what's the matter is doing my head in!”

“It...” Sighing, I stand up and walk over to look out the window. “It's not you, it's...”

“Don't you dare... gloss over it... with the 'it's not you, it's me', bullshit! I... I know I'm not at my best, but you are honestly freaking me out and... and I deserve to know...”

“But it is me,” I interrupt, pressing my right hand against the coolness of the glass as I direct my response to the world outside of the window. “Will, you've got to believe me. You haven't done anything wrong, it... it's just me. Everything that happened and... could have happened to you is as a result of me. Just like Hunley's death, and Julia's field hospital being targeted, I... Don't you see? I bring pain to those who know me and... you'll just be far better off if you distance yourself from me.”

“I think you're being too harsh...”

“No. I'm not,” I state, quickly cutting him off before he can continue. “I've thought this through and... although I'm prepared to stay until Dr Scanlon has given you the all clear, then... then I'm gone. Will... It's just for the best.”

“For who?” Will mutters with an exasperated sigh. “Tell me, Ethan, this disappearing into thin air trick of yours, who is it really going to be for the best for? If you're being all noble and self-sacrificing on my behalf, then don't. I can, contrary to recent events, look after myself and don't need you feeling as though you're solely responsible for my well being. And... If it's for you, then... Again, I call bullshit. You're not, and never have been, a defeatist just willing to wave the white flag of defeat at the slightest provocation. So... Seriously, why do you think it's a good idea to start now?”

“Because...” Just because this is a conversation I knew I was going to have to have at some point doesn't mean I – actually want to be having it – know how to put what I'm currently feeling into words. “Please believe me when I say that the last thing I want to do is hurt you, but... This is something I've put a lot of thought into and I... I just know that it's for the best. Bad things happen to those I care about and... and the only way I can think of preventing this is to... uh... remove myself from their life.”

“You've put a lot of thought into this, you say,” Will murmurs in a dry tone that he then punctuates with what sounds suspiciously like a derisive snort.

I nod and, although I know full well that it's little more than a defensive gesture, fold my arms across my chest as I continue to gaze out at nothing through the window. “I have. Ever since Luther and Benji left for Italy, it... it's all that I've thought about.”

“And I suspect, seeing as you're far more geared towards being a doer than a thinker, that's where the trouble lies,” he responds in the same, dry tone. “Ethan, I know you mean well, but you're over-complicating... factors entirely out of your control. Look. Shit happens. You know it. I know it. Everyone fucking knows it. This, however, doesn't mean that you have to be at the centre of it.”

“Will, please,” I grind out as I curl my hands into fists and dig my fingernails into my palms. “Again, I don't want to hurt you, but I've made my mind up.”

“Okay. Fine.” Standing up, Will walks over to the armchair and, as I risk a fleeting glance over my shoulder in order to check what he's doing, rests his hand lightly on the back. “So what are your scenarios here?” he queries in a deceptively mild tone that, although it conveys both interest and curiosity doesn't so much as hint as having any emotional involvement in the matter. 

“Scenarios?” I give a small shrug and, despite wishing I was involved in just about anything else other than this conversation, force myself to hold my position. “As I've tried to make clear, I'm doing this to protect...”

“Protect,” Will interrupts with another snort. “Okay. So let's see if I've got this right. The scenario you're labouring under sees you... What? Going all lone wolf from this point onward so as to never be a possible burden on anyone ever again? That's one option, I suppose. It's not going to achieve anything though and if you stopped being so intent on becoming a martyr for a second or two I like to think you'd actually see this for yourself, but, again, as thinking isn't really your strong point I suppose I'll have to spell it out for you. If you're right about being a menace to everyone in your life then, and here's a cold, hard fact for you, the damage is already been done. When did you last see Julia, huh? It was years ago, wasn't it? That didn't matter to Walker and Co though. So long as you're alive and... somewhere, anywhere... on this earth, if some asshole wants to get at you through anyone you've ever cared about, then they will. Luther. Benji. Ilsa. Me. To your way of thinking we're all just walking around with targets on our backs...”

“Exactly! Because of...”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. We're all doomed because of you. The thing is though, the same thing that dooms us is also what protects us. Ethan... Damn it! You're only human, but I know, we... all... know... that if we need you you'll find a way to be there for us. Be it because we've fallen foul of some lowlife you once managed to piss off or whatever, if we need you we know you'll do whatever it takes to be there. And nothing is going to change that. Yes. Julia was put at risk. But who saved not only her but also countless others? Who chose Luther's life over the mission? Who was it that pulled out all the stops to save me?”

“None of you would have been in danger in the first place if...”

“But it doesn't matter! While they mightn't be as plentiful or... as mad... as yours, I've made enemies over the years too and I could probably be taken out just as easily by one of them as one of yours. Julia could find herself in the middle of an Ebola outbreak without proper equipment. Ilsa could have a car accident. Benji... Shit! I don't know! Benji could... choke to death on a piece of popcorn. As for Hunley... While I'm as sorry as you are that he's dead, did you phone him up and ask him to come to London? No. He came because he thought he could be of assistance. No one forced him. It was his decision and his alone. Just... Are you even listening to what I'm saying? You can't control everything, Ethan. Regardless of how much you might want to, you just can't. You also deserve to live your life for you, not for everyone else. You... You deserve to be able to do what you want to do, not what you think you should do. So... Come on. Please. Let's work through this together.”

“You're wrong...” Unwilling to let Will's – literal – voice of reason into my head for fear of it weakening my resolve, I shake my head and steadfastly continue gazing out the window. “Things will just be better if...” 

“You know something?” Sighing heavily, Will turns around and begins to walk towards the bedroom. “Up until now I'd always regretted Benji's unfortunate timing in Mexico City. Hell, when I thought you were dead it became my number one regret. Now, though...” He sighs again. “Now that I know you don't think highly enough of me to want to talk, or even listen to me, I... I'm actually relieved...”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	5. Chapter 5

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The light suddenly being switched on startling me into some vague semblance of life, I glance over my shoulder and find Will, still with his hand on the light switch, gazing back at me. Once again dressed in his pyjamas and with his hair ruffled from sleep, he watches me with an unreadable expression on his face for a few seconds before giving the tiniest of shrugs and beginning to walk towards the kitchen. 

“You haven't really been standing there this whole time, have you?” he queries in such a light, normal sounding tone that for an odd moment I honestly feel as though I had to have imagined it.

“Uh... Maybe?” I reply cautiously as, not wanting to either push my luck or take what appears to be Will's quite reasonable mood for granted, I return my attention to the now dark world outside the window. 

“You're hopeless, you know that, don't you?” Will responds with a welcome – if not completely undeserved – hint of humour. “You might have everyone else fooled into believing you're all sorts of marvellous, but I can see right through you and know that uber-capable persona of yours is little more than a well honed act.”

“One that I'm not currently doing very well at,” I murmur, more to myself than for Will to hear as, choking back a sigh, I hesitate over what my next move should be. I know, having relentlessly gone over – and over, and over, and then over some more – everything in my head as I stood, statue-like, in front of the window as the afternoon gave way to at first twilight and then night, what it is I want to do, but...

… I still don't know if I can, let alone whether I even have the right to so much as try.

I started this, and I stand by both my reasoning and my intentions, but...

… Will.

He...

He gets to me.

And, as he just, albeit facetiously, mentioned, he also...

… Gets me.

He knows me. He knows what to say to me. And...

… I'd be lost without him.

Hell. I... was... lost without him.

And, contrary to all the effort I've been putting into convincing myself otherwise, I still want him. I want to work with him, and I want to know that he's just... there, and, yes, I absolutely want... it all. It's selfish, and there's every chance it could still end up proving to be a huge mistake, but what it also just happens to be is the truth. I can't hide from it or deny it any longer. William Brandt means the world to me and I know now that I'm not strong enough to stick to my original plan of... freeing him. 

It's just that...

… Having started down this path, I don't really know how to get off it. 

Having basically laid my cards – such as they were at the time – on the table and explained to Will that he'd be better off without me, how do I now... take it all back and let him know that, through one simple action that he wouldn't even be aware of, I've changed my mind?

“Okay... I'm warning you now that it's not much, but dinner is served.”

Will's voice achieving the same kick up the ass that the light being switched on however many minutes ago now did, I slowly turn around and, solely on auto-pilot, walk over to the dining table as he places two cups down on it before returning to the kitchen and picking up two plates from the bench top. “You didn't need to...”

“Feed you?” Will finishes, dropping a place containing two pieces of toast spread with what I assume to be strawberry jam down in front of me. “Look at it. It's toast and coffee, not a three course meal.”

“Still...”

“I'd actually make the most of it if I were you,” he continues, placing his own plate down on the table before taking a seat and giving me a wry look, “as this is actually it for the food.” Pausing, he takes a sip of coffee and, with a small smirk, shrugs. “Hey... What can I say? Wallowing around in self pity is all well and good, but it doesn't do the food shopping.”

“I...” Food shopping? He's right. How could I so much as contemplate something as mundane or... useful... as making sure there's food in the apartment when I'm so busily stuck in my own head?

“Just sit down at eat,” Will mutters, cutting me off yet again as he gestures with a piece of toast at the chair at the end of the table. 

Nodding, I – give up – dutifully do as I'm told and take a seat. “Uh... Thank you.”

Will shrugs again and takes a bite of toast. “If it makes you feel any better about things, yes, your little confession this afternoon upset me and, hell yeah, I'm pissed off, but that doesn't mean I'm just going to sulk and ignore you. Besides...” Trailing off, he looks me in the eye and smiles sadly. “If you really are going to leave once Dr Scanlon has given me the all clear, then... I suppose I just have to make the most of you while I still can.”

“I...” Feeling somewhat as though I've been put on the spot and am in danger of making things even worse by accidentally blurting out the wrong thing, I stall for time by taking a mouthful of coffee before simply – giving up – going straight for the truth. “I'm sorry...”

“For what exactly?” Will queries in a perfectly reasonable tone. “For ruining my day and putting paid to any future plans I may have been entertaining, or for not thinking to do some food shopping?”

“Uh... Both?” I offer, picking up a piece of toast and, pretty much for no other reason than I know it's expected of me, taking a bite. Although I'm happy to take it, especially seeing as all the alternatives, while deserved, are far less palatable, Will behaving, well, so... normally... is disconcerting me in a way that's making me feel even more out of my depth. Let's face it. He should either be yelling at me, something which it just has to be said he's never been one to shy away from if the moment calls for it, or avoiding my presence like the plague.

“Yeah, well, shit happens,” Will responds, toasting me with his coffee cup. “Oh... In regards to the whole food thing, I'm not kidding. This really is it as far as our supplies are concerned. But don't worry, you can take me out for breakfast tomorrow to make up for it. Given that this is London, after all, I'm assuming there's either a Costa or Pret A Manger within walking distance of here that would be only too happy to take your money?”

“Given that this is London, I'm just surprised there isn't one in the foyer,” I reply, glancing across at Will and, because it comes to me as naturally as my response did, rolling my eyes. “You would, however, be right as of course there's a Costa not even a five minute walk away.”

“Then it's settled. You can take me there for breakfast,” Will replies, giving me what could well be a triumphant smile. “You can call it a farewell gesture if you like, but don't mind me if I think of it as a date.”

“Damn it, Will!” I exclaim as, it all suddenly getting too much for me, I drop my toast back on to the plate and rub my hands over my face. “Why are you being so... reasonable, huh? I've behaved like a... complete dick... and treated you appallingly. Hell. Even now I don't know what to either do or say, yet... You're treating me normally and trying to, I don't know, smooth over the damage... I... caused. You... You'd be perfectly within your right to not want to give me the time of day.”

Sighing, Will puts down his cup and pushes his half eaten plate of toast away. “You're right, I could ignore you, or rant at you, or even... plead... with you,” he murmurs, “but the reason I'm not doing any of these things and am trying, as I already mentioned, to make the most of our short time left together, is because I don't see any point. You've made your mind up, Ethan, and while I think you're wrong, it's not my place to convince you of this as you're as entitled to your opinions as I am. Everything I said this afternoon I both stand by and believe, but if you truly believe you'll be better off on your own then... so be it. You have to live your life as you best see fit. Besides...” Trailing off, he stands up and walks over to same spot I'd spent so many hours standing at in front of the window. “Ethan, I... I thought you were dead,” he continue hoarsely. “Walker did such a good job of convincing me that you were dead and that I was never going to see you again that I mourned you and regretted... lost opportunities. Now... Now that I know you're alive, I... Fuck! This may sound stupid to you, but given the other... permanent... alternative, I can still take comfort from knowing that you're still out there... somewhere. Sure, I'd prefer it if things could go back to how they'd been, but if that's not what you want then... I'm still just glad that you're around and... can find a way to work with it...”

Both touched by, and seizing on, Will's clearly heartfelt confession, I get up and join him by the window. “What if I said that I'd... changed my mind?” I murmur as, regardless of where things end up going from here, I suddenly feel as though a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

Say it.

Believe it.

Clear the air.

Start repairing the damage.

… And hopefully move forward.

Just...

… Fingers crossed, and all that.

“I can't take back this afternoon,” I add, the words at long last falling from my lips in a rush, “or the... pain and confusion... I've caused you by keeping my distance, but... Will... I... I'm truly sorry for all of it. I hurt you, and...”

“I think you'll find you hurt yourself, too,” Will interjects quietly. “The mind is a powerful thing and once a...dark thought... has its claws into you it can take you places that you never wanted to go and... don't always know how to return from. I... I know, and can speak from experience here. Ethan...” Pausing, he turns to face me and lightly places his hand on my shoulder. “Please... Don't be too hard on yourself. Not only are you experiencing the usual... post-mission-blues, but you've also got to remember that these past few weeks have been... unusually... emotional for you and, whether you're able to acknowledge it or not, this would just have to be effecting you as well. The decision you made regarding Luther, both Lane and Ilsa reappearing, not to mention Julia and the danger she was placed in...”

“Believing you were dead...” I whisper, picking his hand up from my shoulder and squeezing it. “Will... I... I fucked up. I... fucked everything up...”

“No you didn't,” he replies, using his free hand to trail his fingers gently down the side of my face. “Things just momentarily got the better of you for a while, that's all. Like I think I said earlier, you're only human and... these things happen. Ethan, you... You're not a risk to those you care about and I, for one, feel incredibly blessed to have you in my life, but... Listen to me. The decision as to what you want from life, or feel most comfortable with, is yours and yours alone. If you truly believe, for your own peace of mind, that you should be on your own, then...”

“I tried to believe it,” I interrupt, releasing Will's hand and taking a step back, “and I wanted, because I truly thought it was the right thing to do, to go through with it, but... You... Will...” Sighing, I run my fingers through my hair before grabbing both of Will's hands in mine and clasping them tightly. “When you went into the bedroom this afternoon, you didn't slam the door behind you like you so easily could have and just pulled it gently shut, and... and it reminded me of that day in Hunley's office when he dumped that Special Activities Branch assignment on you. Even though I could tell you didn't want to do it and was getting all prepared to mount an argument on your behalf, you merely accepted it and, I suspect because you wanted to get it over and done with, slipped silently from the room. And... And then you were dead and... my last memory of you was the way you gently closed Hunley's door. This afternoon... reminded me of that feeling and how much your... death... hit me, and even though I know it's selfish of me, all I really want is to make the most of this second chance. Will... I... Shit! I'm a mess, and I don't know how to, or... even if I can... pull myself together.”

“It's not selfish, and you're not a mess. Or, if this really is your version of a mess, and, trust me, I can personally do way better than this, you're... my mess, and one that I'm not willing to give up on,” Will replies with a soft, reassuring smile as, pulling his hands free, he shifts closer and slides his arms around my waist. “And... The way we move forward and make the most of this... gift... of a second chance is... together. We talk, and we work... together. Always together.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Oh no...”

Startled out of my reverie by Will's cryptic and, well, not exactly reassuring comment, I turn around and watch as, carrying what I assume to be a number of pills in his hand, he walks towards the kitchen area from his bedroom. “Oh no... What?” I query, giving him an expectant look as, just as I'd suspected, he grabs what may well be the last bottle of water from the fridge and uses it to wash down this morning's dose of medication. 

“You. You're standing by the window in what I've come to take as your... uh... 'thinking spot',” Will replies in a light tone that doesn't quite successfully counter the look of doubt tinged concern in his expression, “and... Well... As I thought we'd accepted that... thinking... just happens to be one of the very few things you're not very good at, that...”

“It would be in my best interests if I'd found something else to do with my time while I waited for you to drag your ass out of bed?” I finish, flashing Will a smirk that's only half forced as, still looking a little pensive, he makes his way over to join me by the window. “It's a good job I'm weak from hunger and may have to lean on you in order to make it to Costa's, otherwise I'd have gone for breakfast ages ago.”

“If anyone's going to be doing any leaning it'll be me,” he responds with what I don't actually think is a feigned yawn, “oh, and you're a smart ass, by the way. If you'd wanted me to get up earlier you should have just woken me.”

“No... You still need your rest, and I was only joking.” Smiling, for no real reason other than it's once again coming naturally to me and – shock, horror – I feel like it, I reach out my hand and place it on Will's arm. “How are you feeling anyway? I see that you're dressed to go out, but if you're not up to it just say and I'll go and get something to bring back.”

“I'm fine, and as I can't even remember the last time I was actually outside in the fresh air...”

“Fresh? You... do know that we're in London, don't you?”

“Okay. Fine. As I haven't been outside in... far too long... I'm actually looking forward to our... big, exciting breakfast date. That is...” Trailing off, Will steps back and frowns. “I know I'm probably being silly or whatever, but finding you standing here has... uh... taken the wind out of my sails a bit. Again, I'm no doubt being stupid, but I thought, that is... I'd hoped... that after last night things were... okay... between us. If you're still having doubts, or...”

My smile slipping in the face of Will's obvious concern, I shift next to him and drape my arm around his slumped shoulders. “While I can't deny that a fairly large percentage of my world does actually revolve around you,” I murmur, hugging him against me and mentally breathing a sigh of relief when he allows this without hesitation, “in this instance, believe it or not, I wasn't thinking about you... or us... or even IMF at all.”

“Then... as I honestly don't for a second think you're half as fascinated by the thought of going out for breakfast as I am,” Will murmurs as, still frowning, he glances up at me, “dare I ask... what you were standing here thinking about? I mean, if you don't want to tell me then, uh, that's fine. It... It's just...”

“Of course I'll tell you,” I interrupt as, wanting to put a stop to his unease right here and now, I lift my arm from around his shoulders and gesture towards the view outside the window. “London. I was thinking about London.”

“London?” Will echoes as he moves closer to the window and looks down at the Thames. “That's... different.” Pausing, he links his elbow around mine and exerts just enough pressure on it to make sure I get the hint that he'd like me to stand by his side. “Because there just has to be a... reason... why you were standing here thinking about London, care to elaborate?”

“It's not very interesting, but sure.” Although I don't want to get ahead of myself because it's still early days and I know, notwithstanding how promising last night's clearing of the air was, I have a long way to go to both fully feel, not to be mention... be... worthy of Will's apparent faith in me, I can't deny how good this actually feels and how much I actually want to make it... work. Will, his body warm and solid alongside mine as he waits both patiently and with genuine interest to hear me speak about something that is not only minor and arguably pointless, but also something I never thought I'd ever share with anyone because...

Well... Why would I?

Will, though...

He's alive. He's here. All my dark and treacherous thoughts haven't completely ruined everything between us. And...

… He's both wanting and willing to move forward with me.

Proof, really, that miracles can actually happen.

So... I'll tell him. I'll explain why I was standing here thinking about London, and I'll do it as much because of my need to talk openly with him about things of a personal nature as I will because I actually... want to.

I want to break a habit of a lifetime and willingly share my life because, simply put, I know that for things to stand any hope of a chance of working between us that I have to. I have to open up and let Will in, not because the cunning, manipulative part of my brain knows it's what he wants and I'll score points by doing so, but because, again, it's what I honestly want to do.

“And... ?” Will prompts with a brief, cautious smile. “London?”

“London. Yes.” Nodding, I use my free hand to once again gesture towards the view outside the window. “As you already know, I grew up on a farm in Wisconsin or, as Benji likes to call it, the middle of nowhere. Nothing much happened there outside of farming, school, and the odd... and I really do mean odd... state fair. But... Not knowing any better, it was both home and a way of life that I took for granted. My aunt, however, who was not only the youngest of my mother's siblings by ten years but also the so called black sheep of the family, couldn't stand the sleepy, stuck in its ways of the country and, to everyone's great surprise and dismay, took it upon herself to just up and move to London when I was seven. Although I liked her, her abrupt disappearance didn't really make any impact on my life until the postcards started arriving. Then... I don't know, it was like the images of Big Ben or the busy city streets with their red buses and black cabs flipped some sort of switch in my head and I became obsessed with all things London. I borrowed and re-borrowed all the books on London from the library, and I wrote list after list of all the things I wanted to see when I eventually got there. It... It wasn't that I wanted to escape the farm, more that it struck me as being a completely different world with history oozing from every single corner and which made even places like New York seem... uninteresting in comparison. I wanted to go to London more than anything, yet... now...” 

Sighing, I gently free my arm from Will's and, suddenly wary that I may not be making any sense, smile grimly. “Now I look at London not as a wonderful place full of history but... as one full of memories I'd rather not be reminded of. I've spent quite a bit of time here over the years, but none of it has exactly been pleasant and... I suppose that's basically what I was standing here thinking, that... I never got to experience the London of my childhood...” Trailing off, I shrug and, even more worried now that I may not have even made any sense than I was a moment ago, start to move towards the door. “So, there you have. As you now know what I was thinking, how about we...”

“Your list,” Will murmurs, cutting me off as he grabs my hand and forces me to come to a stop, “the one with everything you wanted to see in London... Do you remember what was on it?”

“Given the time and dedication I wasted on creating the perfect one, yeah, I do as it happens,” I reply, turning around to face Will as his hand tightens around mine. “As I mentioned though, now when I think of London I think of IMF and... near misses and death. It... It's just a city now, one that my ten year old self wouldn't even recognise.”

“What if we could change that?” Will queries, meeting my look of confusion with a hopeful smile. “What if... over breakfast you wrote down your list and, as neither of us are fit for duty and, for a nice chance, are being left to our own devices, we work on ticking as many of them off as we can? Ethan... The London of your childhood is still out there and I would love to share it with you. Uh... Unless, of course, you think it's a stupid idea and...”

“It's... not a stupid idea at all,” I interrupt as, surprised – not for the first time, I might add – at how Will's mind operates, I gaze at him with what I just know has to be some sort of dim witted, 'the lights are on but no-one's home' expression on my face, “it's just...”

“You could think of a thousand things you'd rather do with your time,” Will finishes glumly as he drops my hand and retreats to the sofa. “Just... Forget it,” he continues, taking a seat and staring down at the floor. “It was just an idea. Obviously a stupid one, but...”

“It's not a stupid idea,” I repeat, hurrying over to the sofa and taking a seat on it next to Will. “Hey... I'm sorry if my... reaction... made you think that I didn't like it. It's just... It came completely out of left field, that's all, and... clearly, by not knowing how to react I reacted... badly...”

“Do you want to know why I'd like to tick places off your childhood list with you?” Will queries quietly as, glancing at me, he leans back against the sofa and sighs. “Yeah, it was a spur-of-the-moment offer, but I also meant it. I'd love to share all the tourist sights of London with you because it would be a gloriously... mundane... thing to do. We could... play... at being normal, and you could finally realise your childhood dreams, and I thought it would be a nice thing to do because I... I could do with something nice...”

“Will...”

“Wait. I hadn't finished,” he murmurs, sitting up straighter and swivelling around to fully face me. “Ethan... I thought you were dead, and you... you thought you'd scattered my ashes, and while I don't want to go on and on about second chances, this... Don't you get it? This really is a second chance, a... gift, if you like, that we need to grab with both hands and make the most of. Maybe it'll work, and maybe it won't, but if we don't embrace it and work at it, then... Then we may as well not even bother. And... No. While sightseeing in London isn't a deal breaker by any stretch of the imagination, it's still something that I'd really like to do with you because...” Pausing, he shrugs and smiles tentatively. “Well... Because we'd be together and I think it would be fun...”

“And God knows we could do with some fun,” I offer with both a nod and a smile as, knowing that I'd do well to seize both the moment and... gift... I've been given, I reach out my hand and gently trail the back of my fingers along the curve of Will's cheek and jawline. “Just... Thank you, and... I'm sorry for my initial reaction. You've got to believe me that it wasn't because I thought the idea was stupid, it... it was just surprise as I hadn't expected it and, if you must know, had given up on the idea of ever playing tourist in London a long time ago. Now that you've mentioned it though, Will, there's honestly nothing I would like more than to see London by your side. In fact, it would be my... honour... as much as my privilege.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Apparently forty million people a year use this station,” Will comments as he rejoins me after having to get out of the way of a very harried looking woman – albeit one with a look of steely determination in her eyes – pushing a stroller who had nearly gone through him in her haste to get to the exit.

“And I think we may have just encountered a million of them,” I respond drily. “I also think you would have had wheel marks on you if you hadn't got out of her way when you did.”

“Tell me about it,” he replies, looking, I can't help but notice, a little relieved as the exit comes into sight. “Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of the Tube and think it does a marvellous job of getting people around. At the same time though I also think there's every chance I'd end up going postal if I had to use it every day.”

“As there's only so much pushing and shoving I can take too, I have to say I agree with you,” I mutter, shooting a scowl at a man in a cheap suit as he uses his briefcase to herd me out of his way. “Still, as we'd probably have spent half our day stuck in traffic if we'd taken the car, this is arguably the lesser of two evils.”

“Granted,” Will agrees as finally reach the exit and step outside into the cool afternoon air, “and it... has... done a pretty good job of getting us from A to B. I could just live without the hordes of impatient people, that's all.” Coming to a stop, he glances up at the sky and frowns. “Changing the subject here, those clouds look a lot more ominous than they did earlier.”

“We'll make it,” I declare confidently as, dismissing the grey clouds and their threat of rain, I get in step with Will as we begin to walk, side by side, towards our apartment. “Sure, it's going to rain, but just not for a while yet.”

“Forgive me if I don't take your word for it.” Shrugging, Will slides his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and flashes me a warm smile. “So, did the Tower live up to expectations?”

“Given that most of the books I was pouring over as a child were already outdated by the time I got my hands on them,” I reply with a smile of my own, “it was actually even better than I ever thought it would be. Especially the Armoury. Those suits of armour were something else again.”

“Mmm... Something that I'd have nightmares about having to put on.”

“Tell me about it. In fact... Next time I feel compelled to whine about having to put on Kevlar, feel free to remind me of the historical alternative.”

“Well, there'd certainly be no running in it,” Will laughs. “Although... It would be quite amusing to see.”

“Oh, hilarious, I'm sure,” I mutter, gently digging my elbow into his side as I make a 'tsking' sound of disapproval under my breath. “Anyone ever tell you that your sense of humour leaves a lot to be desired?”

“If they have I've never paid them any attention,” Will replies both sweetly and with another laugh. “But... Okay. Moving on here. As the Tower of London was the... big ticket... item on your list, where too from now, huh? It sounds like Benji and Luther will be back soon, so if there's anywhere else you'd like to go we'd better get on to it.”

“Actually...” Coming to a stop at a red pedestrian light, I position myself in front of Will and, because he's effectively opened the door for me to mention what's recently been on my mind, decide that I may as well just go straight for it. “There... is... somewhere else that I'm wanting to go. It... It's just not in London, though.”

“No?” Smiling, which tells me he's not all bothered by this somewhat random bombshell, Will looks at me expectantly and waits for me to go on. 

“No. It's actually Belfast. I want to go to Belfast so I can remove your memorial plaque from your family's plot,” I state with a hesitant smile as I watch Will closely in order to judge his reaction. “I know, I know... This has probably come out of nowhere, and it's not as though I'm in any rush to leave London, but... uh... it's something I have to do and... while I'd understand if you didn't want anything to do with it, I'd really like it if you would come with me. You don't have to come to the cemetery, if you don't want to, but...”

“Of course I'll come with you,” Will interrupts, linking his arm around mine and pressing up against my side as the lights change to green and we begin to walk across the road. “Just... Thank you for having even thought of it. Uh... Thank you, too, for... having done it in the first place. It really does mean a lot to me.”

“There's nothing to thank me for,”I murmur, not wanting to think back to those dim, dark days when I believed Will was dead, “and... It's settled, then. Even if it's just a detour on our way back to the D.C., we'll go to Belfast.”

His expression making it clear that he doesn't really want to think about the events of our recent pasts either, Will simply nods and tightens his arms around mine as we continue to head back to the apartment.

Pleased, not only with Will's easy, effortless acceptance of my need to pass through Belfast but also his instinctive awareness of there being nothing more that needs to be said on the subject, I follow his lead by remaining silent and just – count my lucky stars – make the most of the feel of his arm around mine as we make our way along. I know I could continue to doubt both my presence in his life and whether I'm not just making a huge mistake by deluding myself that things between us could actually work, but...

… Having been there and wasted too much time on doing that, what I also know is that I have to fight these sorts of thoughts at every turn and, ridiculously simple as it might sound, just make the most of the gift I've been given.

And it is a gift.

A second chance. Life. Friendship. The odd, unfamiliar sense of... completion... that comes part and parcel with feeling so comfortable with another person who, for whatever reason, happens to feel the same way about you. I may not fully understand it, and I suspect there will always be a part of me that doesn't feel worthy of it, but what I have come to terms with is that it's both real and more than worth every effort that has to go in to maintaining it.

While I can't quite fully embrace the notion of 'all's well that ends well', nor can I deny that, against the odds or not, everything really has worked out... okay. Six have Lane locked up in such a way that it's highly unlikely he'll ever feel the sun on his face ever again, Julia and Erik, according to Luther, have settled easily in to a new field hospital in Africa, and Ilsa, courtesy of a casual phone call to an acquaintance at Interpol, is already leading her own team and working hard on dismantling a people smuggling ring.

And...

… Will's alive.

And here.

And, along with healing well, I'm actually...

… Content with my lot.

Happy, too, but as I've always viewed happiness as more a fleeting emotion than a constant one, I personally find that a general feeling of ongoing contentment is even better, and...

… That's what I have.

That, and memories of the past four days that I know will remain with me forever. Playing tourist with Will and finally getting up close to the famous landmarks of London that coloured my childhood and offered me a world outside of the farm has been nothing short of amazing. Normal and mundane for most people, granted, but for me, compared to how I've grown to view London, it really has just been something of a wonderful experience. I've seen things I'd long given up on ever getting to see and, best of all, I've got to share it all with Will. Will, who took the story about my childhood love of London – the same story, I have to confess I'd never once considered sharing with Julia even though, at the time, I honestly thought I was fully committed to our marriage – and immediately decided that the time had come to make it a reality. Will, who...

… Just makes everything better.

A large raindrop suddenly landing on my cheek causing me to jerk my head back, I notice that the ominous looking clouds I'd – wrongly – estimated to be miles off are now directly above us and am about to comment about needing to get a move on when, suddenly, rain begins to absolutely pour down.

“So much for your theory of... making it,” Will mutters, laughing as he hurriedly frees his arm from mine and starts to run. “Come on! At least we're nearly there.”

“Your definition of nearly there is about as good as my ability to read rain clouds!” I retort as, apparently having little choice in the matter, I begin to run after Will. My still healing – as in, while they're certainly better they're still an annoyingly long way away from... great – ribs complain vigorously at being made to move faster than the gentle strolling pace I've been maintaining since Kashmir but, wanting to keep up with Will (who admittedly isn't exactly going that fast himself) I ignore the pain and just soldier on. By the time we reach the entrance to the underground parking garage we're both wheezing as though we've just ran a marathon and, as hard as I try, I can't remember when I last felt this – exhausted – winded from running half a mile at most.

“Explain to me, please, how it's possible to get... this... unfit so damn quickly,” Will murmurs as he leans back against a conveniently placed Range Rover and, there's really no other word for it, pants. “I feel like...”

“When I sit down I may never want to get up again?” I finish, grabbing Will's hand as I stagger past him on my way towards the private elevator to our apartment. “I could be wrong, but spending three weeks locked in a room and heavily sedated probably has something to do with it.”

“Yeah, yeah. That's my excuse. What's yours?”

“If you'd seen a x-ray of my ribs you wouldn't even have to ask.”

“Shit! Sorry.” Squeezing my hand, Will gets in step with me and smiles apologetically. “You shouldn't have ran and, seeing as we still ended up drenched anyway, you should have just stopped me.”

Pressing the button to open the elevator doors with my free hand, I shrug and, once they're open, step inside. “I'll survive.”

“Still...”

“As you're in no better shape than I am, I actually think the less said on the subject the better,” I interrupt with an unbothered smile as Will presses the button for our floor before, his hand still in mine, positioning himself close enough to me for our shoulders to be touching.

“You mean you don't want to have a lengthy discussion on how much of a pain in the ass passing our next physical is going to be?” Will responds, pulling a face as he glances at me.

“What part of... the less said on the subject the better... are you struggling with?” I laugh, pulling a face of my own as I make a very deliberate point of... not... thinking about what awaits us once we finally return to D.C.. “Just... Did you... have... to go there?”

“Probably not,” he admits, giving me a wry look as the elevator doors glide silently open and we walk out into the apartment. “In fact, I'm down with ignoring the inevitable if you are.”

“Now you're getting it.” Grinning, I release Will's hand and, as he does the same with his, take off my sodden coat. Then, as we both reach simultaneously for the coat rack...

… Déjà vu. 

Mexico City all over again.

Long dark lashes blink water out of blue eyes as somehow, wordlessly, we shift even closer still. 

The thought that... 

Now. 

Something, the very same something we haven't rushed into or even discussed because, somehow, we both knew instinctively that it would occur when the time was right, was finally going to happen.

A tremor of excitement working its way down my spine as, with the slightest of nods and the smallest of sighs, Will's lips brush feather-light, against mine.

A moment of bliss only heightened by the unspoken promise of there being even more to come, before...

Reality.

The sound of the elevator descending causing instant confusion and curiosity.

“Aren't we the only ones to have access to that?” Will murmurs as, looking as disappointed as I feel, he looks towards the elevator and frowns. “Ever get the feeling you can't catch a break?”

“Constantly,” I mutter as, once again grabbing Will's hand, I pull him over towards the security panel by the elevator doors before quickly accessing the live video feed of the parking garage and, as I can hardly believe what it is I'm seeing, groaning. “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”

“It... It's like some sort of art form, isn't it,” Will comments with both a sigh and a half smile. “I don't know whether I should be pissed off, or... impressed with his timing.”

“Pissed off. Definitely pissed off,” I retort, scowling at the small screen as, oblivious to the fact he's being watched, Benji, all the time beaming happily, gets into the elevator. “I mean... What is he, the King of Interference, or something?”

“As I assume Luther is still unpacking the car, clearly they were able to wrap things up even more quickly than they'd expected,” Will replies, keeping one eye on the screen as he takes a step back and, without warning, gently pushes me back against the side wall. “It's your call,” he adds, locking his gaze on mine as he releases my hand only to place it warmly on my shoulder. “We... back down, or...”

“Not much liking how things ended up going after we backed down last time,” I murmur, quickly catching on to where Will's heading with this and approving of it whole-heartedly, “I say we proceed.”

Smiling brightly as he chokes back laughter, Will presses his body lightly against mine and kisses my forehead. “That's what I was hoping you'd say.”

“Mmm...” Placing my hands on Will's hips, I pull him even closer as our lips meet and, at long last, we share our very first proper kiss. Focused solely on Will and the magic of this long overdue moment, I forget all about the elevator and our unwanted arrival, until...

“Hey guys! I'm... Oh! I... Sorry! I... Uh... Don't mind me. I... You know what? I think I'll go and see if Luther needs some help with the luggage. So... Uh... Just... As you were. Uh... Shit! Not that you need my permission, of course. I... Shit. Sorry. I'm going. Look. This is me going...”

Once the elevator doors have closed on a very flustered Benji and we're once again alone, I reluctantly break the kiss and, as he doesn't make so much as an attempt to rein it in, join Will in laughing. “Do you think we've scarred him for life?”

“I prefer to think of it as... laying the groundwork for something he's going to have to get used to,” Will replies through yet more laughter as, instinctively, we embrace. “Ethan... Please. No more doubt or hesitation,” he then adds in a far more serious sounding whisper. “Let's just see where this takes us.”

“My vote, seeing as he'll not only be back, but this time he'll have Luther in tow, is for it first taking us to a hotel for the night,” I reply in a light tone before, as I tighten my arms around him, following Will's lead and turning serious. “Will... Everything you just said, I'm with you one-hundred percent. Anywhere you lead, I'll follow.”

“I'll settle for you packing us a bag while I book us a room,” Will responds, casting a quick glance over his shoulder towards the elevator even though he makes no attempt to begin to move away. “We can play nice for a while and be brought up to speed on things before slipping away and just leaving them to to it.”

“Sounds good to me.”

And it does, too.

Really good, in fact.

~ The End ~


End file.
